


Do it with some style?

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: A project gone crazy. Two ministry workers thrown back in the time when their parents tied bonds. That’s bound to cause headaches, isn’t it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to my beta MrBenzedrine! Without her, I wouldn't write one word in fanfiction!

“Oi! Take care, Malfoy!” One of his colleagues, whose name he couldn’t remember, had to jump out of the way in order to avoid a hefty collision. Draco simply ignored him; it wasn’t his fault that the other man had his eyes on his coffee mug and not on his environment.

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy wasn’t in the best of moods when he walked towards the Head Auror’s office. The reason of his more than usual brooding appearance had nothing to do with the fact that he was ordered there, but with what happened the day before. 

He and Astoria had finally decided to end things. Their parents had set them up about a year ago, but it simply didn’t work out for the both of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Astoria - quite the opposite, actually; they were close friends, confidants even. Holding her close was pleasant, and the sex qualified as nice, but that was it. Luckily, she felt the same way, and so they parted ways in friendship -and not in marriage, as their parents so desperately wanted them to. The reason for Draco’s grumpiness lay in the conversation at the dinner table at Malfoy Manor when he informed his parents that he was a free wizard again. 

Lucius nearly choked at his entrecote, and his mother almost spilled some of the expensive red wine upon his declaration. Then the ranting started: ‘You have to settle down, Astoria is the perfect match, you have a responsibility to continue the line…’, blahblahblah for about an hour in which Draco concentrated on his food and decidedly ignored the harsh words. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have feelings! He simply was too well educated to show them to anybody like a bleeding Gryffindor.

And he was a wizard, for Merlin’s sake! He could make little pureblood heirs in the next sixty years or so. And, judging by the admirable glances his father caught when parading around in public (even from witches just out of Hogwarts -ugh!), there wouldn’t be a problem to find a decent enough partner in the next decades. For now, he wanted to concentrate on his career, on his friends, on casual physicality with pretty witches without thinking about putting a ring on any of their fingers.

Draco forced his thoughts on his work again, wondering why he was ordered to Head Auror Potter’s office today. Maybe a new, particularly nasty case for him? Usually, Draco was the one in the department who got assigned with those ‘special’ cases that required a bit of insider knowledge, meaning: lots of Dark Magic, many old ‘family friends’, the skill to handle hexes and curses the Auror Training listed as too dark -and Draco had learned hands-on at the same time as flirting with women.

Those special cases were the reason why he mostly worked alone.That and the fact that he wasn’t the easiest wizard to work with. Well, it wasn’t his fault that most colleagues felt intimidated or unnerved by his striking personality, was it? He was a Malfoy, after all! Furthermore, his boss avoided partnering him up with female Aurors, because, apparently, they became too easily distracted by him -or so riled up they were an inch short from hexing him into next week.

Without bothering to knock, Draco entered Harry Potter’s office. He and Potter had developed something like an amiable companionship over the years, not exactly a friendship (because Potter had passed this opportunity up when he didn’t grab Draco’s hand back before their Sorting). Draco knew what Potter’s brats names were (well, at least he knew he had two and one on the way), how he drank his firewhiskey, and that he and his wife had a tendency to forget locking spells on his office doors (that was something he’d rather have obliviated from his memory). On the other side, Harry knew how Draco drank his tea, what his favourite insult for his male colleagues was (‘flapdoodle’ for a wizard, he didn’t swear at witches because he was raised with manners), and whom he had lost his virginity to (a busty blond cousin of Daphne and Astoria Greengrass on a boring pureblood gathering when he was fifteen), courtesy to a Veritaserum-accident some years ago.

Potter sat at his desk, papers scattered all over it in a seemingly unorganised manner. The glasses askew, the hair absolutely ruffled- he was the same as always.

The other wizard looked at Draco seriously. “Please close the door, Auror Malfoy.” 

Uh-oh. Closed doors and a ‘please’. Things were looking very bad for him. 

Normally, the Head Auror was a huge fan of the muggle policy of ‘open doors’, which -to Draco’s opinion- probably stemmed from the frustration of not being able to close them magically. Closed doors meant confidential. ‘Please’ meant Draco would hate it. ‘Auror Malfoy’ meant deep hippogriff shit.

Draco automatically checked his parent’s schedule in his mind; Monday: yoga for Mother. Tuesday: Father was going hunting (for a artificial bait, not for muggles!). Wednesday: tea with the Parkinsons for both of his parents. Thursday: shopping trip to Diagon Alley for his mother with his father trailing behind her looking for something better to do. Friday… -to sum it up, there wasn’t an item ‘pledging allegiance to the next evil Lord’. So, something personal was out of question -what was it Potter wanted to shove at him?

Draco sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk and looked at his superior questioningly.

“I wanted you to come here because I’ve got a new case for you.” Straight to the core of things, not even time for ‘How are you, Malfoy? Nice weather today, isn’t it? What about a round of Department Quidditch on Saturday?’

“I figured as much,” the blond drawled sarcastically. Potter sighed heavily, either because of Draco’s usual overconfident behaviour or because of the assignment.

“An important employee of the Research Department is working on a secret project. A project of such delicacy that I’ve come to the conclusion that the employee is in need of protection while working at it, whether she likes it or not.” 

Draco didn’t like where this was going. At all. He knew exactly who worked in the Research Department, even having screwed the witch’s assistant a few times before he was with Astoria.

“I’m going to regret this eventually, but seeing as you are the only one available and have shown exceptional talent in this kind of work…”

Harry’s words were interrupted by Draco’s almost whining (because Malfoys didn’t whine - they growled and sneered), “You can’t be serious!”

The Head Auror pointed at his scowling face. “Do I look like I’m joking, eh? I’m as uncomfortable with the situation as you are, and I’m well aware I should prepare the forms for not-so-accidental hexing between Ministry workers when it comes to you two, but I won’t risk her safety. And even if this admittance leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth, you’re actually quite good at what you do here.” With what he thought was a final, powerful gesture, Harry pushed the ministry approved manila folder into the blond’s hand - and the effect was ruined by some of the pages tumbling from it onto the floor. One landed on the floor with the script facing up, presenting Draco the smiling picture of the menace of witch that called herself the researcher of whatever project: Hermione Granger.

Damn it, Draco really should have stayed in bed today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to MrBenzedrine89 for patiently correcting the same mistakes for what feels the millionth time!

“You’re assigning me to babysit the know-it-all while she’s experimenting with things that are probably going to blow up on her?” Draco snarled.

Potter gave him a shrewd glance while gathering the fallen papers and stuffing them back into the folder. “I thought that much was obvious. And the blowing-up-things person was Seamus, not Hermione.” Did that matter? Gryffindor was Gryffindor -wasn’t it?

With a sigh, the raven-haired wizard sat behind his desk again before handing the case files over to Draco. The blond opened it -and whistled. Apart from Hermione’s official Ministry vita -which he was already familiar with thanks to being unwillingly updated by Potter from time to time- there was also some information that surprised him.

“Granger passed the Auror training with better results than you? Why didn’t she join the Department?” However, the training dated back to a time when he and Potter had long started working as fully fledged Aurors. What had she done in the time after graduation?

“Because, I quote: ‘Shouting Expelliarmus! every second day isn’t intellectually satisfactory, even if that’s the one spell you’ve excelled at faster than me, Harry!’” Potter chuckled. “And she doesn’t exactly like the spotlight when we’re successful, and successful she would’ve been. But that isn’t why I want her protected by someone I trust.”

Draco still felt a swell of pride when someone addressed him as trustable. He had worked hard to associate his name with trust again, and it never grew old. Of course, his expression showed his inner state not one bit -Malfoy, male, Slytherin, (in that order) and all. 

“Read the last paragraph of the confidential projects she’s worked at for the Ministry.”

Draco’s eyes wandered to the bottom of the last page. 

“Magic dampening handcuffs, untraceable tracking spells, poison-selective antidote pills containing a mix of muggle and wizarding substances in one pill…” Damn, that woman had a talent in soaking up potentially dangerous projects, didn’t she? Draco was all professional now -and a bit intrigued, if he was honest with himself. “I see. Let me guess, the present project is equally insanely dangerous?” 

Potter only nodded, “I can’t divulge you here and without her presence, but I can give you some more background knowledge. It’s kind of a preventive project, and Hermione has been working on top secret things for years now, so it isn’t unusual for her to have someone on her side to watch her back while concentrating on her task. She tends to forget everything going on around her when she’s neck deep in solving a riddle or problem, and that contains basic things like eating or sleeping, but also taking looming threats seriously. We’ve learned that the hard way.” Potter gave an involuntary shudder, caught up in an unpleasant memory for a moment.

“So you essentially want me to stop Granger from being hurt and hurting herself while the precious Golden Girl saves the world in secret,” Draco summed up.

“If you want to put it like that, yes. Usually, it’s either me or Ron for this task, but-”

The blond almost groaned. He wasn’t ready for Gryffindor gossip, and he would probably never be.

“-But given her break-up with Ron a while ago, and the fact that she can’t stand his new girlfriend, he’s out of the picture for the job. I’m Head Auror now, and my familial situation simply doesn’t allow me to extend my work hours to Hermione’s crazy schedule…It sounds weird, but, in my eyes, you seem to be the best choice.”

Having his ego stroked did help a tiny bit.

“I’m aware of how talented I am, thank you very much. But Granger and I -we’re not really on ‘let’s free a dragon together’ level’.” Not that Potter needed the reminder. Whenever Draco and Granger encountered each other at Ministry functions they both had to attend and couldn’t avoid each other like the plague as they usually did, they fought tooth and nail (and wand, occasionally). It wasn’t a problem based on his (former) views of blood purity or the insanity of their youth, but they pushed and pulled like magnets do because of their personalities; both were fierce and talented -intellectually and magically. Furthermore, both stayed firm on their point of view, were protective of the people they cared for, and, under many layers of rationality and logic, were quite soft and emotional (which Harry was well aware of, but would never ever tell Draco in this very moment). 

“Oh, darn, I wasn’t aware of that petty little detail, my dear sensitive employee,” The Head Auror’s voice dripped of sarcasm. “Malfoy… Draco, try to act professional here, even if you two don’t get along on a friendly level. Consider it as an ordinary case for you, like when you had to guard the Canadian Minister’s daughter for a while.” Draco nodded, not bothering to mention where that mission had ended -namely in his bedroom (What? The witch was easily of age!). Not that anything like that would happen with Granger and him, sooner Hell would freeze over. Or the Chudley Cannons would win the Quidditch championship.

“When am I going to start?”

Potter grinned, obviously pleased with the reaction, and suggested, “I’d say you go down to her office to arrange a meeting between the three of us.” Draco was already rising from the chair, when the other wizard spoke again.

“Listen, I’d like to give you some personal advice concerning Hermione in hope of avoiding, at least some of, the major blow-ups between the two of you.”

Great. More Gryffindor gossip. They were worse than Pansy, and that's saying something!

“Never mention her parents; they are a very sensitive topic for her.”

The blond nodded in understanding, suspecting it had something to do with the past they all left behind, giving all of them their crosses to bear in one form or another. Though, Potter wasn’t finished yet.

“She’s allergic to nutmeg; never leave her to drink champagne; she can’t handle it, even if she says otherwise. You’re raising astronomically in her ranks when her cat likes you. When she asks if you’re hiding chocolate somewhere and rubs her lower back: run. Should Hermione address you with sugary sweet endearments, such as honey-bunch, possum or flitter-mouse, she’s this far,” he held up his thumb and index a millimeter from each other, “From hexing you into oblivion. Submit to her wrath and show her the soft underside of your belly if you like your balls where they are.”

Draco shrugged the advice off, his usual arrogance surfacing,easily pushing aside his professionalism, “I can handle a petite witch like Granger, I’ve plenty experience in handling witches.”

His superior chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused -and not believing him one word.

~*~  
‘Hermione Granger’

Draco had never been in the Research Department before. Normally the ‘squints’, as Potter sometimes called them (and inexplicably laughed himself silly every time), came to them when they cooperated. Maybe cooperation was the wrong word… they came to the Auror Department when they had fulfilled whatever task the Aurors had shoved in their direction. Upon entering this floor of the Ministry, he was as far from Slytherin as he could get, he was sure. 

However, the young Malfoy was surprised that the plaque on the door only read the bushy haired menace’s name, not ‘Order of Merlin, First Class’, ‘Top Researcher and Swot’, or even ‘Saviour of the Chosen One’s Arse’. 

He knocked at the metal door, waiting to be invited in.

Nothing happened. He knocked again; same result. His naturally lacking patience jumped out the window and he opened the door. Immediately he caught sight of Granger, her white lab coat and the riotous brown curls making it easy to identify her among the million strange machines and devices.

“Granger, are you deaf?” Just when he looked at her surprised expression, expecting her to throw back an insult - a butterfly buzzed into his line of sight. His blue wings reflected the lights like small mirrors. How did a butterfly get into the Ministry of Magic of all places?

“Malfoy, down!” The barked order triggered reactions long honed in his years as an Auror. Just when Draco touched the ground (gracefully, of course!) -the butterfly exploded with the force of a small magical grenade. The heat rushed over his body, but nothing around was set on fire or shattered.

When the heat wave had passed, the wizard jumped to his feet again, cursing, “What in Salazar’s name was that?”

With a barely concealed smile, Hermione Granger stepped fully into view, hands stuffed into her coat. “That, Malfoy, was a magic-sensitive spying device.” The witch’s explanation gave away nothing.

“You could have been a little more subtle if you wanted to kill me. The good, old ‘Avada’ would have done the job,” he hissed.

“Technically, it shouldn’t explode, just transmit visuals. But it is still in the testing phase, and it tends to… go wild sometimes.”

“Technically, I could arrest you for attacking a member of the Auror Division.” 

Granger shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head, as if saying, ‘Try it.’ Then, she turned around and walked over to her very crammed, but neatly organised desk, leaving Draco standing still pissed but also a bit intrigued beside the door.

“Why butterflies?” he demanded to know.

“Well, everybody likes butterflies, don’t they? They’re inconspicuous, and nobody suspects them to be threatening.”

He wouldn’t admit the brilliance in that logic, that’s why he asked, as politely as he could muster, “So pretty little insects are the top secret project you need an Auror for? What are we going to do then, walking in the park and collecting shiny bugs?”

Granger snorted; a very unladylike behaviour his mother would scrunch her nose at.

“Obviously not. But I can’t tell you here- it’s not safe enough.” With a sigh, signalising that she detested him as much as he did her, she scribbled something on a piece of paper and thrusted it in his hands. An address in London was all there was on it.

“Make a happy dance, Malfoy. You’re invited to join Harry and me for dinner today. Seven p.m. sharp. Bring red wine.”

With that, he was obviously dismissed, because she concentrated on her desk work again, not paying him attention anymore. Fuming, Draco left the room, not without giving into the childish urge to slam the door closed behind him. 

The nerve of this woman, daring to order him, a Malfoy, around!

~*~  
“Draco, where are you going?”

Damn, he really thought he could make it into his parent’s wine cellar and out again without talking to one of them. He wanted to show Granger how effortless a Malfoy oozed class, even if it was a simple dinner in what he expected to be a common flat.

“For dinner, Mother.”

Narcissa Malfoy gracefully walked over to her son, taking in his appearance: his grey-blue dress shirt, a dark vest and slacks under his elegant black robes. The whole thing made her raise her perfectly trimmed eyebrows.

“That doesn’t look like an evening with Theo and Blaise; you’re dressed to impress someone.” She paused. “Draco, do you already have another witch up your sleeve? Oh, please tell me you’re trying to rekindle things with Astoria!”

If Draco hadn’t received more than enough Stinging Hexes in his childhood for this particular habit, he would have rolled his eyes now. “I won’t repeat myself, Mother. Astoria and I have parted ways, irreversibly. And it’s a work dinner I’m invited to.”

“A 200 Galleon worth bottle of wine for a working dinner?” Narcissa eyed the bottle of ‘75-red wine from his family’s own vineyards in France. “Are you certain there’s not a witch behind this? Or…” her voice lowered, “A wizard, maybe?” 

He should really stop spending so much of his time with Blaise. The fact that the Italian wizard made no difference whether he bedded witches or wizards got his mother funny ideas, even if it didn’t matter to Draco at all. 

Though, he smirked devilishly and answered, “Both, actually.” 

Narcissa’s face was priceless; she was probably already imagining the headlines in her head, ‘Malfoy scion wields his private wand ambidextrously - Lucius Malfoy admitted to St. Mungo’s’.

Draco gave his mother one of his rare grins, admitting, “I was just teasing you. It is a working dinner, but I can’t tell you more, because it’s confidential.” His mother relaxed visibly. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, letting her hand linger there afterwards for some seconds. 

“Alright. But I’d still love to see you and Astoria sealing the bond. Think about it again, dear.” Her back straight as always, she exited the room, and Draco stepped into the green flames after clearly stating the address from the paper Granger handed him earlier.

The lion’s -or, more appropriately, lioness’- den awaited him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my stories wouldn't be possible without the awesome MrBenzedrine! Her story 'Squirm' won a Dramione award for best WIP and I'm switching between screaming at her and praising her for it. Read it and you'll know why...

When Draco stepped out of the green flames, he did so into a surprisingly large living room. Somehow, he had expected Granger's home to be a small, plain flat with bookshelves wherever they fit and at least five cats. The sight that met him, however, was a bit different; even with bookshelves indeed from the floor to the ceiling on every wall except the windows and the passage probably to the dining room, it wasn't small by far. It still was somewhat plain -but which living room wasn't compared to his standards?

As for the cats: he could only see one, unsurprisingly ginger cat… kneazle… beast. By Salazar, what did Granger feed it? House elf babies? No, probably not. The huge animal stretched on the sofa, hopped from it, and sashayed over to him. The somewhat-cat sat down some inches from his polished shoes and snuffled at them. Knowing it wouldn't do him any good if he kicked his assignment's cat, Draco tried to act reasonable. In Draco Malfoy units, at least.

"What do you want?" he snarled, giving the best impression of Snape he was capable of (honestly, the man could scare away the sun with one word). He wondered if Granger's pet had ever met the late Potions Professor and developed a tolerance, because it wasn't affected one iota.

"Mrrrrh?" the animal asked, now roaming in a tight circle around him. Probably leaving fur on his robes.

"What. Do. You. Want?" he pronounced deliberately and sharp, as if talking to an imbecile like Crabbe. Well, the mewling beast was probably more intelligent.

A female giggle met his ears. His head shot up, only to be greeted with Granger standing in the passage to the next room. What came next unsettled him, because he had never seen it on the witch and directed at him: she gave a genuine smile. And pointed to her pet then -naturally.

"He probably wants to be scratched behind his ears or have his tummy rubbed, Malfoy, as every kitten wants. Though, I'm a bit surprised that he bonds with you so easily."

"Why? Because I'm a Death Eater?" The temperature dropped rapidly at Draco's snipping.

"Don't be dafter than usual, Malfoy," Granger made a dismissive gesture with her hand, "Because you're a man and a stranger! Usually, Crooks doesn't take both well. And he's been acting weird all day, totally on edge. He hasn't been so reckless since…" she hesitated for a moment, "Doesn't matter. Come in, dinner's about to be served."

With this little drama, the witch turned; for the first time, Draco took in her appearance. Granger was dressed in a long, bright blue cotton blouse that ended mid-thigh and black leggings that ended in flats. All in all an outfit the entirety of his female friends wouldn't have been caught dead in. Still, it gave her a much more relaxed air than at work - maybe she was bordering tolerable now.

He followed her into the dining room, where his superior just set a bowl of potatoes on the table. He, in turn, was followed by a red shadow.

"Potter." Draco greeted with a nod of his head, handing the man the bottle of wine.

"Draco." The nod came back.

"Oh, you actually brought wine! And a red one, too."

"You sound surprised, Granger. Though, some of us have been raised with manners."

"You see, some of us have friends that don't enjoy a decent wine over a butterbeer." Granger's gave an accusing stare in Potter's direction. "Don't forget it has to breathe, Harry, so no drowning it at once, okay?" She opened the bottle by hand.

The dinner - not creative, but better than what they served in the Ministry's cantine - was a quiet affair, though Granger showed that she estimated decent goods when she tasted the wine.

"Gods, this is marvelous." she sighed with closed eyes, revelling in the unique taste of his family's private brand.

Draco smirked. With closed eyes, Granger tasted the wine.

"A full body. High viscosity. Tastes like black plum and provencal herbs." Suddenly, the witch's eyes flew open, and he found himself confronted with sparkling chocolate orbs. Huh.

"Mourvèdre grapes?" The words tumbled effortless from her lips, and Draco asked himself what kind of family background the brunette had exactly. Aside from being muggleborn, that was.

"Indeed, from one of the private vineyards my family owns in the Provence. Very rare."

Granger gave a triumphant smile and turned to her best friend. "See, Harry? This is how a good wine can taste."

The saviour of the wizarding world shrugged his shoulders, "Hey, I know it's a red one. That has to suffice." Cretin. Deliberately redirecting the attention away from him, Potter announced, "We're here to work, aren't we. So let's start by letting Draco into the basic information of your project."

The blond came forth with a thought that had tickled his brain all day long, "Why isn't it safe to talk about the thing you're working on in the Ministry?"

With a heavy sigh, Granger explained, "We highly suspect someone is threatening the project, and we can't rule out it's someone from the inside."

"What kind of threats?" Draco wanted to know what kind of thing he was getting in.

"Death threats against me, threats to hurt the Weasleys, the Potters. The usual." A cold shiver went down his spine. Granger hadn't experienced this for the first time. How could so many threats happen and no one in the magical Law Enforcement knew of it? Except it was kept thoroughly under the covers.

"We don't know how the darker circles get wind of what I'm working on, and we probably never will. It's what you get when you're working on highly dangerous research."

Damnit. The witch was talking about all this with an icy air that would have impressed his dear father. What did they say about genius and madness being close together? He wasn't so sure about which side Granger was on anymore.

He cleared his throat, "And because it could be someone from the inside, you made a private thing from it?"

"It's not a private thing. Kingsley knows and approves of it." There was the rule addictive bookworm again, Draco thought. He almost thought she'd lost it.

"Furthermore, this house is the second most warded private home in Britain. After Malfoy Manor. With the difference that this is under Fidelius."

Foregoing the reference to his family's home, Draco furrowed his brows. "And you just let me in like this? It isn't a safety instrument when you hand your address out so easily." It wasn't that he became a top Auror by looking handsome. Though, it was a bonus.

"Well, Fidelius comes from 'fides', 'trust', and if Harry trusts you, then so do I. Doesn't mean I have to like you, Malfoy!"

There was this word again. Trust. Draco didn't know what came over him when he smirked, almost playfully, and said, "Oh, I can be very likeable if I desire so."

"No doubt here, I spent many hours listening to my assistant Libby describing how you charmed her knickers off." His smirk widened when he felt them falling into their familiar pattern. Excellent. He wouldn't admit to a living soul how much he enjoyed the bickering at times -when it wasn't annoying or infuriating as Hell, of course.

"That implies she wore them in the first hand, doesn't it?"

Draco could practically see her neurons firing behind those eyes in search of a witty comeback, because they had diverged from their norm with their vaguely sexual topic.

All the while, Harry sat quietly, pretending as if he wasn't in the room. Such communications between Draco and Hermione were best dealt with by standing at the sidelines and not getting caught in the crossfire. Often literally. Though, this evening he had to douse the fire before it caught the room. He opened his old-fashioned pocket watch, once a present from his mother to his father, and checked the time. After all, Ginny awaited him to rub her feet, and when Ginny was pregnant she was quite scary. And because he didn't want to spend the night on the sofa again, he slapped his hand flat on the table like when James and Albus had one of their quarrels over their favourite stuffed dragon and he wanted their attention.

"If you're quite done? I'd love to leave the subject of Hermione's assistant's undergarments and switch to Hermione's work." The two opponents blinked at him like deers caught in the headlights, as if remembering that they weren't alone in the room. Hermione's cheeks were flushed, were it from the wine or the rush she usually got when arguing with Draco he didn't know.

"Fine." With a huff, Hermione cleared the table from their dishes and cutlery and left the dining room, only to come back moments later with a bowl made of stone. Her steps were more careful now, measured, as not to spill the bowl's content. She set it on the table, presenting it to Draco.

"What are you telling me here, Granger? Want me to drink that in an obscure ritual to turn me into a Gryffindor or something?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed on him. "Or something. Making you a Gryffindor would need a sword and ropes, at least. No, Malfoy, this is the project I've been working on. It started some months ago when there were hints and rumours in shady circles that there were still at least one time turner around."

Draco was back to business. "I thought they were all destroyed while you had that unfortunate skirmish in the Department of Mysteries years ago?"

"To be exact, they weren't smashed but caught in a time loop of their own," Harry corrected, "And that fact makes it even more alarming should someone out there indeed have one of this evil little toys. We don't have anything to go against them then, and that's why Hermione tries to develop a new one."

Draco didn't need an explanation of how dangerous it was to manipulate time; that was common knowledge for every well-educated person in the wizarding world.

"Where did you get the manual from?" he asked, curious, before he was distracted for a second by the 'cat' rubbing his back on his lower leg.

Granger gave a frustrated exhale, observing the silvery substance in the bowl. "That's exactly the problem. Accurate descriptions about the creation of time turners aren't easy to come by, which is a blessing and a curse at the same time. Fact is, there are only a few sources, and they are very vague about it because most of them are ancient oral history written down. And you know: history became legend, legend became myth…" Hermione trailed off, murmuring the last words more to herself.

"What are you babbling about?" Draco queried, clearly irritated.

A small blush appeared on her cheeks and took a large sip of the precious wine. "Nothing. Just quoting random movies." Potter snickered in amusement. He must be the only other magical person who had seen the movie Granger was referring to, a very boring history documentation of some sorts, the blond was sure.

"What? I'm a nerd, I can't help it!" She smacked her friend over the head -which did nothing to his hairstyle. Draco hated to be left outside of conversations.

"What's a nerd?" His question made the blush spread and the snigger turn into laughing.

"A sign of intelligence among muggles. Now shut up, Harry James Potter, or I'm telling Malfoy about the kind of movies you'd like to indulge together with your wife." Draco's Slytherin senses perked up when the threat indeed silenced his boss -had to be a dirty little secret. "I've recently begun to work practically after months of research. This is what I have so far: the time reversing substance." Granger gestured to the bowl on the table, returning to their matter at hand.

"Isn't it dangerous to keep it in a vessel like this without a stasis charm?"

Granger swiftly fell into lecturing mode, "I'm still working on the shell, which is the real challenge; no substance has proven itself fitting so far to be exactly scaleable. Only stone doesn't interfere with the stability of it, as other materials and the stasis charm does."

Draco nodded in agreement, ignorant of the mewling noise from beside his chair.

*()*()*()*()*

"Now that you know the basics of my work, are we going over the schedule for the next days?" Okay, maybe she enjoyed it that it was Malfoy she could boss around now. A teeny weeny bit.

"You already have my address, and I've adapted the wards to let you in. I start working at 8 a.m. and finish at 4.30 in the afternoon, and that's when I start working on the time turner here."

"I want you to stay with her until she locks away the project for the evening and regularly check on her at her office in the Ministry. This way, you can still do your normal work in our Department and won't draw too much attention to your absence," Harry added to her words.

"Won't I, frequenting Granger's office, draw a lot of attention?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy, nobody pays attention to the comings and goings in my Department. We're a bunch of confused scientists, that's part of the problem."

A purr from beneath the table told Hermione that Crooks was now using all his weapons to get Malfoy's care. Why was he so friendly with the man? Maybe he was starting to get senile…

She emptied her glass and placed it on the table. Malfoy reached for the bottle, non-verbally asking if she wanted a refill. Damn his polite manners. She couldn't neglect his offer now, could she? Even if she was feeling a bit flushed, and the alcohol was starting to go to her head. Malfoy surely was a connoisseur of very fine wines. She had to give him that.

Hermione observed the wizard pouring the delicious beverage into her glass when everything went to Hell. Some things happened almost parallel: Hermione placed a hand on Malfoy's hand to stop the liquid flowing, like she would when around her friends. Big mistake. His skin was surprisingly warm and inviting, and she wanted to comment on it when Crooks decided he had waited long enough. The feline wanted immediate attention and, with a huge heap, jumped on the dining room table.

As if in slow motion -which was kind of ironic considering what came after it- her darling pet tipped the bowl with the time turner substance over and send the liquid flying. On her. On Malfoy.

This was a situation that desperately called for yelling 'Fuck!' And Hermione would have done so, if there hadn't been the overwhelming and too-familiar feeling of being sucked - no, squeezed - no, pushed and pulled through a tunnel.

A tunnel piercing the surface of time, shredding the solid confines of their reality.

Nonononono. This couldn't happen.

But it did, and when the witch opened her eyes again, she was relieved. They were still standing in her dining room.

Until she took a closer look: the flowers on the table weren't there seconds ago. Nor was the cozy looking green cord armchair. Or the brown and orange coloured curtains next to the window. Or...

Wait. They?

Her eyes fell on her blond companion. Nonono.

And Malfoy chose exactly this moments to display the more intellectual part of his brain that wasn't filled with pretty witches, Quidditch, and dark spells and analysed his environment. Eerily calm, his grey eyes settled on her some seconds later.

He knew. He knew like she did what had happened. This realisation made it so much more real and her heart sunk.

His voice was dangerously controlled when he drawled, "Granger, what in Salazar's name happened?"

"You know what!" she hissed.

"Time travel. The liquid your forsaken beast splattered all over us."

Hermione could only nod.

But when were they? Something must have directed them, anchored them in this time. An object that connected the two of them. Her eyes fell on the bottle of wine Malfoy was still holding in his grasp. With a very bad feeling she turned the bottle slightly and read the vintage on the label.

1975...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank MrBenzedrine89 for fitting me in her super busy schedule despite the time difference!  
> And it would be super nice to have someone comment on this? It would really make me smile!
> 
> Here we go..

"Malfoy…" her harsh whisper commanded the blond's attention immediately, "I'm afraid we're in 1975." However, she wasn't so lucky as to be graced with a reaction, except of a slight twitch in his jaw, because they heard a toilet flushing upstairs, followed by another rush of water.

Knowing they wouldn't have much time before whoever it was left the bathroom upstairs, Hermione grabbed Malfoy's hand unceremoniously and half pulled, half shoved him outside. Any other time, she would have been amused at his facial expression upon her touching the' Holy Grail to Witchcraft' that was Draco Malfoy (not her words, but Witch Weekly's). But now wasn't the time for that.

They stepped into the sunlight in the very moment she heard the characteristic sounds of the stubborn bathroom door falling closed. Puh, that was close.

"Granger. Stop this instant. We have to have a chat. Now," Malfoy barked, apparently fuming behind her while she walked away from her future house as fast as possible without running.

"No."

He stopped at her contradiction. "No?"

Hermione turned, coming to a halt in front of him. "Congratulations, your hearing is excellent. Now go, we have to find a place where we aren't so exposed."

Surprisingly, he agreed with a curt nod. She wanted to throw a half-nasty remark at him to be a good boy and follow her when she noticed a young man walking on their side of the pavement in the direction where they were coming from. His slightly curled brown hair fell almost into his eyes, and he blew them away impatiently in a familiar gesture, for his arms were occupied holding a huge pile of books. With her and Malfoy blocking his path, Hermione wanted to signal her time fellow to step aside, but the young man blatantly ignored her and simply stepped on the street, seemingly lost in his own world.

Malfoy turned around to see what she was looking at, and the man was close enough for her to read the titles on the spines of the books -they were all about dentistry…

With a loud rumbling, a car approached at high speed, ignorant of the young man.

"Careful!" Malfoy yelled after analysing the situation in a split second, reaching out to yank the other guy away from the approaching vehicle Hermione knew to be a 1972' Ford Granada.

The man's jumper slipped through Malfoy's hand when she hauled Draco toward her. Hermione saw his grey eyes widen in surprise before a mighty crash got to her ears.

The Ford had taken the brown-haired man on its bonnet, the brakes screeching when it finally slid to a halt. The man fell off of it again, his eyes closed and, apparently, passed out.

In any other scenario, Hermione would have jumped to help, examining the injured and screaming at the older man that exited his car now, visibly shocked. But not now, not here.

Instead, the witch dragged the baffled Auror, who had his hand on his wand holster, into the nearest alley.

"Granger, what the Hell-" he started to rant. Hermione stopped him by clamping her hand over his mouth, her other hand fastening on the back of his head. She was forced to stretch her arms and step on her tiptoes because Malfoy had several inches on her.

"Listen to me before you pull your wand and start a duel in a muggle neighbourhood you're likely to lose". Something in her posture must have convinced him that she hadn't gone around the bend, and he stopped wiggling in her grasp.

"You're going to let me explain?" she asked and was rewarded with a nod. And a not-so-gentle bite in the soft flesh of her ring finger. "Ouch, that wasn't necessary, git!" she winced.

Malfoy half sneered, half smirked when he countered, "Well, snakes bite -and you deserved it. You're lucky I didn't simply press you into the nearest wall with my weight, so don't get all girly on me, witch."

She was convinced some witches out there would be thrilled at that prospect.

"Don't be so touchy, Mister." With an impatient sigh, she started pacing back and forth in the alley. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before she addressed the blond.

"The fickle thing about time travel is that one can unknowingly alter the future with the smallest gesture. Step on a seed in the past and a whole forest disappears in our present, without anyone realising it."

"I'm not as daft as your usual companions. I'm well aware of the grandfather paradox!" He rolled his eyes impatiently and crossed his arms.

"Are you really? Then your ways to erase muggleborns from the wizarding society have really become creative!" Take that, Slytherin! Because there was no adept answer to her words, she explained, "The man you wanted to save, in a rare bout of humanity, was my father, Malfoy!"

Okay, judging by the irritated expression on the wizard's face, he couldn't make the connection. And Harry said he was a fast thinker…

"The house we've been in, both in our time and now, is or was my grandparents', and the irresponsible driver of the car was my grandfather. He came back from work too late and crashed into my, admittedly a bit confused, father, who was on the way to my mother. She had left her books in the university library, and he was working up the courage to ring at her door. Said later that if my grandfather hadn't crashed into him and brought him to the house to tend to him, he likely would have turned around again. He had a thing for my mother for a long time, but this was the first time she noticed him."

Malfoy listened intently and concluded, "So if he hadn't had the accident, your parents eventually had never fallen in love with each other and wouldn't have made the insufferable know-it-all in front of me."

"Brilliantly deduced, Sherlock," Hermione acknowledged, ignoring his irritated blink. "We have to be extremely careful around here - we don't want to influence the future from the past more than necessary, right?"

Malfoy ran a hand through his short, platinum locks, signaling his frustration. "The past is the future. The future is the past. It all gives me a headache. This day gets weirder every passing moment. What's next?"

The sight of Draco Malfoy pulling at his hair made her grin, and she ceased her pacing. "We're working for the Ministry of Magic. 'Weird' is part of the job. Come on, let's have a cup of tea. That always helps."

*()*()*()*()*

They found a cozy looking café not much later, and when the waiter placed the steaming cup of hot tea in front of them, Hermione allowed herself to relax in the familiar, time-resistant scents. Well she wanted to relax, but there was the unnerving sound of fingers tapping against the surface of the table.

"If you could interrupt your meditation, I'm afraid we have a bit of a situation around here," enunciated the wizard across from her.

"Not more than usual," she shrugged,discreetly erecting privacy charms with her wand under the table before putting it back in the holster on her forearm. In the moment, she was very thankful she hadn't overcome the quirk to carry around her wand on her body 24/7 since the war. Dreadful to imagine being wandless in the past with only Malfoy's wand to wield.

"The wine bottle was what brought us to 1975, right?"

Hermione confirmed with a nod, "The time turning substance works unspecifically without the shell to calibrate the exact time span. We're actually kind of lucky that we had an object anchoring us, otherwise we could have ended anytime; from the Middle Ages to the point where the land we grounded on hadn't existed yet."

She could swear she saw Malfoy shivering at this thought. "But why did the bottle anchor us and not our bodies?"

That question was well-thought she had to admit, as it was one of the first that came to her when she started handling time turners in Third Year. "There are some theories about that, but the substance always links to an object, never a living soul."

For some minutes, both were lost in their own thoughts, sipping her tea. (Malfoy's contained three spoons of sugar; her parents would have thrown a fit!).

"So… the house you're living in… are going to… will be living-" Hermione chuckled at the blond's problems to find the adequate tense for their situation, "-oh, shut up, Granger. The house we left a while ago, you own it in our time." Did his lips curl in a slight beginning of a smile?

"Yes. It became mine when my grandmother died some years ago. I lived there since the War and cared for her when she needed me." Please, don't let him ask about my parents. Please. Her pleas were heard. Strange.

"It's bigger than I imagined."

She could have reacted on the underlying arrogance in his words but knew she couldn't allow them to fight as they usually did. For once, she needed Draco Malfoy to get out of now. And he needed her.

"Mmh. My family is quite well-off in the muggle world, and my grandfather was a part of the medical faculty as a professor at UCL -University College London," she explained absentmindedly as the cogs turned in her head. "We need somewhere to stay, we need money, we need to come up with a plan," she demanded.

Despite the more than strange situation, Malfoy the years working as an Auror had formed him more than anticipated. "So that's how you and the other two won the war basically on your own? Plans?"

"Plans and preparation. Seeing as the preparation fell short for us, it's all about plans. You don't happen to carry muggle money around?" she didn't wait for him to answer and surmised her plotting, "Money first, so we can look for a place to stay. I could work as a nurse-" Malfoy's eyes shifted to a slightly darker shade at her suggestion, "-But that would be too dangerous for the time line eventually. We need to earn some money and check in a hotel…"

"Stop, Granger," the blond wizard interrupted her, "however we find our way back, I'm certain we won't find it in the muggle world. Furthermore, all exchanges from muggle currency and Galleons were monitored by the Ministry until 1998, and you know that. We can't risk leaving such an obvious trace in time."

Damn. Stating the obvious was Harry's job. And he berated her. That was her job.

"Fine. But we can't very well walk into Gringotts and take money from our vaults, can we?" she pouted. A second later, Malfoy's expression became positively devilish.

"In fact, we can. Everything we need is a Malfoy-" he pointed at his still perfectly wrinkle-free shirt, "and this." As if ordered, the sun suddenly fell through the window and reflected on the signet ring she knew he carried since school. Wasn't there a rule for Aurors that forbid carrying jewelry? For the first time, Hermione was glad about her partner's ignorance.

"But robbing a bank could change the timeline!" she argued for the sake of arguing.

"Not necessarily so. I remember my grandfather telling me a story about a mysterious break-in of the family vaults. They only realised at the end of the year that a small amount of money had been taken; there was no alarm from the wards, the heirlooms all remained untouched."

She couldn't keep her voice void of sarcasm when she muttered, "Leave it to a Malfoy to tell small children stories about money and crime."

The haunting grey of Malfoy's eyes fixed her gaze with emphasis. "He told me because of the strange amount of money stolen; five Knuts, six Sickles, 1980 Galleons."

Hermione gasped. "5.6.1980, your birthday!"

If the wizard was surprised she knew his birthday, he didn't show it. "Correct. Perhaps a hint? I don't know…"

"That doesn't matter. Wait here, I'll be right back."

When she came back to their table, the blond's head turned towards her with a questioning glance.

"I took care of our bill," she stated.

He smirked, fully aware that neither of them had a purse with them when they fell through time. "Confunded the waiter?"

Now it was her time to smirk. "Malfoy, I don't confund a muggle if not absolutely necessary," she lectured him. "I told him I was a silly girl and left my money at home. Added a bit of female charm with a smile here, and a touch on his arm there, and our tea was paid for."

She had seen the shift now happening on Malfoy's face happen on many wizards; it was the moment when they remembered she was indeed a woman.

"You're going to catch flies if you don't close your mouth! Come on, we have business to do!"" She was already halfway to the door and endlessly amused when she heard him following her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give many, many shout-outs to MrBenzedrine89 - you wouldn't be able to understand one sentence without her help! She is AWESOME!

When Hermione stepped out of the cozy café again, she relished in the feel of the warm sunshine on her skin. She really spent too much time indoors in her lab in contrary to the wizard behind her, who had regained control over his expression once again; not that it made him any more charming.

"Diagon Alley, then?" She asked, even if their place to go was actually not debatable. Where else to start their journey home than at the bustling heart of England's wizarding society?

"Mh," came his grumpy response, "let's search for a quiet place to Apparate."

"I don't think so. Apparating shouldn't be our choice of transportation," she explained calmly.

"Why can't we Apparate?" Instead of the whiny response she was so used to from Harry or Ron, Malfoy's question seemed genuine.

"Because we can't be sure that all objects are where we expect them. What if some walls or other dangerous objects are in a slightly different place? I don't want to knock on Malfoy Manor and explain why exactly the heir of the Malfoy line has splinched himself to death by landing himself partly in a bookshelf." Though, the expression of utter astonishment on the face of Lucius Malfoy could be worth it.

"You know the route?"

"You know that this is London, right?" she tsked. "The more important landmarks are the same as in our time; they didn't move the Houses of Parliament in the last couple of centuries, and Diagon Alley goes back to the 1500s."

He simply rolled his eyes at her, and she took it as acquiescence. As a Point me! with their wands was certainly out of question, Hermione turned roughly into the direction of what she presumed was North and set an energetic tempo for walking. Her companion caught up with her effortlessly, and when she noticed how impressingly the sun highlighted his bright hair, she realised something.

"Gosh, Malfoy! Look at us!" Hermione made a vague gesture at their heads. Evidently, anticipating what was coming was an unbridled admiration of his physique and persona, the blond smirked.

"Give me a mirror, and I will enjoy the view. That should be enough for both of us."

She pushed him into the next quiet alley, making it almost a new habit of hers. "Seriously, could you be less of… well, yourself? It's annoying." She felt her blood pressure rise and counted to ten in her head before resuming, much calmer, "What I wanted to hint at is the fact that, given your familial roots, you have got very easy recognisable features. Don't you agree?"

He gave her a once over and she felt strangely naked under his scrutinising glare.

"I suppose. You, too, have some remarkable traits that could make someone remember you very easily." It was as close as a compliment as it could get from the blond. Then he supplied, "You need a new identity; something… common. A half-blood. You don't have the manners or the posture of a pureblood witch."

Asshat! Did he really say that? "Malfoy… spare me the paperwork and Avada yourself!" she hissed. He was visibly confused before she could see the realisation kick in.

"Merlin, Granger. It wasn't an insult - just a fact. And on the plus side, it means you know how to remove that stick from your arse."

"Kinky, Malfoy." she commented, slightly mollified.

"Well, Potter told me you can really let loose from time to time. That's probably a sight to behold."

Hermione couldn't pass up the opportunity to fluster him even more and raised her eyebrows mockingly, asking herself what kind of stories Harry had told the man in front of her - and why.

"That came out wrong. I meant-" Malfoy began; the brunette started to giggle, "-Stop laughing at me, you infuriating witch!" But she didn't have it in her to stop at the too funny impression of Malfoy, and he reacted by pinching her side. She squealed, surprised, because it was something only Harry and Ron used to do. He gave her a boyish grin that made him look like eighteen again, and she conceded.

She thought about it for a minute before stating, "Okay, I'm going to be Ophelia Croft, half-blood. Less curls with a bit of blonde streaks, less freckles and darker eyes?"

His grey eyes focused on her face and hair again, and she noticed she looked the same when analysing an unknown substance in a test tube. Finally, he nodded to her suggestion, "That should work. What about me?"

Hermione gave him a victorious smile, "Well, Malfoy, you certainly have to say goodbye to your hair and your eyes. I'm voting for changing this 'pools of molten silver' into a real blue and give you a common dirty blond instead of 'the platinum tresses of an ancient God'. Don't look at me like that, I'm quoting 'Witch Weekly' at its finest." She felt heat rise in her face at his knowing smirk. Merlin and Morgana, she simply needed her girlish five minutes in between all the highly intellectual work.

"And you seem to be a very attentive reader of it, fangirl!"

She smacked him over the head not very gently. Under the protection of some privacy charms, they altered their appearances and were quite satisfied with the outcome. Malfoy was still Malfoy to her, so she wouldn't accidentally confuse him with someone else, and the underlying arrogance and the alertness in his now blue eyes were still there. Maybe his nose was a little shorter than before and his jaw less prominent… but he couldn't see that yet.

"Have you thought about an alias for you?"

Did the tips of his ears redden a bit?

"Uhm -what about Robert Langdon?" he announced casually. Too casually in Malfoy speak. Then two information connected in her brain and provided her with an interesting inside: first, the name the pureblood chose was one of the main character from a famous muggle novel series; and second, coincidentally, one of her books from the series had gone 'missing' when she had left it at the Potters after an evening of babysitting.

The brunette bookworm pointed her finger accusingly at the book thief, her other hand on her hip,"Sometime between here and 2008 we're going to have a talk about the definition of 'nerd', Mister-"

"-Langdon." Malfoy suddenly grabbed her hand with a playful smirk, entirely too confident. "At your service, Miss Croft." He simulated a hand kiss, and she had to suppress a smirk of her own when she pulled it back.

"But Robert is such a mundane name for a wizard. I'd say…" she went through the many names of the Weasley family in her head, "Bilius is much more appropriate, don't you think?" Malfoy breathed in, most presumably to come forth with a contradiction, but she would have nothing of it. "Uh-uh, you take that name or Blaise and Theo will get a copy of Illuminati with an inscription how their dear friend Draco Malfoy thoroughly enjoyed this muggle book."

The blond's mouth closed again.

"Lead the way, Miss Croft." His snarl made the day so much better for Hermione.

They resumed their path, Hermione considering herself an expert in London's infrastructure. Ten minutes later, they were lost.

Totally, utterly lost.

Eventually…. the city had changed a bit in the past decades. Not that she'd admit it aloud. The witch kicked the nearest dustbin in frustration, and, upon hearing an amused chuckle behind her, threatened, "Don't say a word, Funshine Bear!"

The chuckling went on. "Oh, but I have to. I couldn't help but observe your inability to navigate us the right way, so I wanted to make a suggestion," he drawled, his voice perfectly polite. That irritated her even more. "As we can't simply ask someone for the direction, we should take the risk of Apparition. Ollivander's has been in one place far longer than the rest of Diagon Alley, and our best choice would be to aim at his workshop beneath the shop.I don't think he changed anything down there in the last hundred years."

Hermione was dumbfounded at the rational argumentation. "You've been down there?"

His answer was solemn. "It was… a difficult endeavour to find a new wand for me after the War. Ollivander took me there and made one specifically that… agreed with me. You know-"

"-The wand chooses the wizard," she finished softly. Apparently, she had found one of Malfoy's weaker points and gracefully stepped over it, tempting as it was. "Don't splinch us!" Hermione ordered when she placed her hand on his offered arm.

*()*()*()*()*

After how their day had worked so far, it was a surprise how easy it had been to apparate to Ollivander's wand forge. They made it out of the shop without notice when the (still… already... whatever) old wizard sold a new wand to a witch whose toddler had accidentally broken hers.

Malfoy led Hermione towards Gringotts, both of them taking in the Diagon Alley of the 70's, and, above all, the fact that they weren't recognised. They were simply two of many. When she walked towards the main entrance, however, he, almost gently, placed a hand on her elbow, changing her direction. Her first instinct was to tell him off, but when he re-directed her towards another door at the side of the huge building, she was confused.

"The entrance is over there - you realise that, don't you?" she asked.

"And you probably don't realise people with money want privacy. The same as for Hogwarts goes for Gringotts: you can't apparate in or out of it. And since those goblins are so damn nosey, this is our way to get in without notice."

Hermione needed to digest the fact that Malfoy actually had read 'Hogwarts: A History' before she blinked. "Wait, this is a private entrance you can pass without anyone monitoring you or leading you to your vault?"

Malfoy aligned his signet ring with a secret lock, and the door clicked open. "Keep up, Granger. That's what I said, wasn't it? Or did the time travelling mess with your doubtable intelligence?"

She breathed out heavily, accidentally stepping on his toes when entering the bank.

"Circe, this would have spared us a lot of trouble in the War! A lot more subtle that riding a dragon, too," Hermione muttered to herself dryly.

There had to be few people in the wizarding world with the access to this private entrance because they met no one on their way towards the Malfoy vault, which was a good thing because the wards would have revealed their true features again. It was eerily quiet around them while the carriage ride brought them deeper and deeper. Hermione knew the deeper the vaults, the more money they held and the older they were. She had believed Bellatrix's vault was one of the oldest, but the Malfoys' had to be one of the first established, for the journey seemed endless.

After what felt like hours, she climbed out of the carriage, shivering with cold. Without a nasty remark, Malfoy unbuttoned his vest and transfigured it into a cloak, to which he handed her. She nodded, thankful, and threw the soft material over her shoulders, momentarily distracted by the unfamiliar scent of it. Hermione didn't have a fine olfactory sense (that's probably why Harry and Draco almost bested her in Potions), but even she could make out the difference from the homey scent of Ron, the brotherly whiff she connected with Harry, and this. Malfoy's scent was more prominent, richer, deeper - and unmistakably male. She liked it, somehow, and that unsettled her so much she almost collided with his back when he stopped in front of a dark brown, enormous door.

"Only the bearer of a Malfoy ring can enter here, Granger. So you have to be a good girl and wait outside while I'm working business, yes?"

Arrogant prat. "So, 'Speak friend and enter' doesn't work for the precious Malfoys? Curious," she countered ironically. But he hadn't even heard her quip, because he had opened a secret lock again and disappeared behind the door and the wards Hermione could feel sizzling behind it.

A minute later, he stepped out of the vault again, tucking away a small bag she knew was filled with more money than she made in six months.

"You took the designated sum, yes?" He nodded before she continued, "Okay, I get the reference to your birthday and all, but it's still a hefty amount of money."

The patented Malfoy smirk made an appearance again. "The way I see it, if we're going to search for a way back to our time, why not do it with some style? Come on, Granger, we're going for a shopping trip. I want my vest back."

*()*()*()*()*

Hermione had always been of the opinion that Malfoy's mother bought his clothes for him or whatever girlfriend he was having. Hell, even Blaise or a house elf could be responsible for his constantly impeccable outfit.

But Hermione Granger had never been more wrong in her life.

The casualness with which he moved around the (expensive) shops made it obvious that he was the only one responsible for everything that touched his body —fabric-wise, of course. With utmost determination, he grabbed shirts, vests, slacks, suits, robes, socks for himself, even underwear in under half an hour. For the latter items, he needed the longest, she observed, before deciding for very fine cotton instead of silk. "Too much friction," he explained after she had questioned his choice with a raised eyebrow.

After paying for his acquisitions, Malfoy once again let his eyes wander over her body and ended in a frustrated sigh when landing at her comfortable flats. Before Hermione could comment on his rude behaviour, however, he had ushered her into a shop specialised in witch's high quality clothing. The kind of shop where there weren't even price tags on the pieces.

"Welcome to our shop, how may I be of assistance?" They hadn't even really entered when a young witch floated towards them. Her megawatt smile and her perfect appearance, the way she held herself in her stilettos and curve-accenting robes, disgusted Hermione.

"Well, we're here to get this lady a much needed update on her wardrobe," Malfoy explained with a charming smile. She could have punched him into his stomach because now the assistant scanned her knowingly before zooming in on her companion again.

"I see." Now Hermione wanted to punch the other witch. For Heaven's sake, she was no charity case or stray cat the almighty, generous Draco Malfoy decided to take in from the streets.

A flirty wink accompanied the woman's next words,"I'm positive we can find something marvelous for our financé, Sir."

What? She wasn't Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!

"We're simply colleagues, Miss. And I'd be delighted to have your assistance." Even Hermione could detect the overwhelming charm Libby (her floozy secretary) had described radiating off of Malfoy in that very moment -and it worked on the blonde beauty, if her blush was any indication.

"'l'lI make sure to call for you when we need you, thank you." Malfoy's wink and smirk dismissed the woman, who retreated with an arrogant smile in Hermione's direction.

The brunette only rolled her eyes and huffed. "Seriously, I begin to wish back the times when you had only an insult and your sneer for the girls."

"Even then it was successful. I can't help that I'm irresistible, even without the Malfoy name as icing."

"Cute that you believe your words."

The following minutes were spent with the wizard perusing the advertised clothes, all the while thrusting articles in Hermione's arms. When she stepped into the changing room, she couldn't help but remark - under the protection of a silencing spell, of course - "I don't see that many differences between the wizarding fashion now and in our time. I guess it changes as slowly as the rest of the wizarding society."

"Explain," Malfoy demanded, sharper than she ever expected to this kind of statement.

She opened the curtain and pointed at some of the robes and dresses. "Just see what you chose for me to wear: traditional robes and skirts, not one pair of trousers or something casual. Because this is what a proper witch wears, right? Something that puts all feminine assets on display."

"Well, yes, of course." The aggressive irritation in his voice irked her.

"Of course, and next you're going to suggest I hand over my wand and only start talking with your permission!" She had no explanation whatsoever why she was getting angry. Strangely enough, Malfoy seemed to know.

"I know your image of gender roles stems from the Weasleys, so I shouldn't be surprised, but the wizarding world isn't as prejudiced as you think when it comes to women, not even in 1975. They can work, they have their own fortunes. But still, witches mostly wear dresses or skirts in this decade, and one of the 'skinny jeans' you seem to prefer would only draw unnecessary attention, don't you think? Now do as I say and try these clothes on before I lose my temper with you."

His voice had been low and reasonable with a barely there prevailing timbre, and Hermione felt herself inexplicably drawn to it. Must be the fact that he used logic on her. In any case, it helped her to vanish her anger.

"Sorry, Malfoy. Maybe I overreacted a bit. But you see, there are no books on gender roles in the wizarding world, and so I assumed…" She was interrupted by his arm thrusting yet another dress into her hands. A very short, Slytherin-green one.

He had to be kidding.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider myself very lucky to have a beta like MrBenzedrine89: she's kind, honest, and always there for me. I'm so thankful and proud to have such a talented writer by my side! She's a real angel!

*()*()*()*()*

The Slytherin-green dress was just a tool to interrupt her embarrassing rambling. So, Hermione Granger didn't know everything. That was probably a new concept for her, but did she have to be so Gryffindor-ish about it?

And he didn't expect her to actually try the dress and show it to him. The second she stepped out of the changing cabin, he felt his breath hitch; he had no chance to deny Granger was indeed a witch. Not that he generally doubted the worthiness or her magical abilities anymore - been there, done that, almost destroyed him; but this was the first time (or so he told himself) he acknowledged her female assets which the dress he had chosen put on display so beautifully. Oh, no, not beautifully… visually appealing. Yes, that was much better. The rounded curve of her hips, the long, slender legs, the surprisingly prominent slope of her breasts and the valley between them were very symmetrically satisfying.

"What do you think?" She was talking now, and that snapped him out of his… analysis.

"It is acceptable. You won't be recognised as a bookworm with this one, at least." He listened to himself to shape his voice in his usual arrogant drawl. "The colour suits you, though," Draco added as an afterthought, accompanied by a wink before he could stop himself. She stuck out her tongue at him and pulled the curtains closed with force.

Did she blush? Impossible, must have been the lights.

After the dress, things were easier for Draco. He judged every blouse, skirt, and robe - except the underwear, which Granger insisted she would choose on her own. He observed her scanning over the exhibited wear and how she shook her head at it. He didn't know what was wrong with it, though; the simple cotton would fit perfectly to a woman like her - wouldn't it? Instead, he heard her mutter, "No. Bleeding. Way. That screams for a visit in the muggle world," before she grabbed one pair of panties and a bra, visibly frustrated. Draco swallowed hard to dispel all thoughts of connecting 'Granger' and 'frilly underwear'.

*()*()*()*()*

"Hello, I'm Marty!" The rugged wizard who welcomed them was much to cheery for an établissment so far below Draco's standards. The man should be in tears for working there, as the Leaky Cauldron was no better in the 1970's than in their own time.

"Hello, Marty, we're looking for rooms, maybe for the next few days," The Gryffindor witch next to him proposed, equally as cheery. Could one go blind because of too much suppressed eye-rolling? Draco certainly was in the process of testing this.

"Then you're looking in the right place, darling. There's exactly one room left for you love birds."

Uh, no? Not in a hundred years?

"You haven't payed attention, Mister-" Draco started.

"Just Marty, please."

"You haven't payed attention, Mister Marty, the lady asked for rooms - as in two of them," he spoke slowly now, a tiny thread embedded in his words. Just because they were in the cheapest wizarding hotel of all Britain didn't mean he would forget his poise.

"Oh, I've heard alright, mate. But you see, there's this big Quidditch game between England and Germany in a few days, and we're full up to the roof. There's just one room left because a couple cancelled."

"But," Draco could hear a slight exasperation in Granger's voice, "we are no couple, you see? Just colleagues."

The keeper's glance travelled over (disguised) Granger and switched to (disguised) Draco, before addressing the (still) blond, "Pity, I'd say. For you, mate."

Draco glowered at the other man, but before he could hex the pheasant, Granger interfered, "Look, Marty, are you absolutely sure that there's only one room? You see, it wouldn't be very professional if a girl like me shared a room with her colleague, would it?" Her long lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks, her tongue slipping forward to wet her lips. And Draco was damned, because he noticed every detail. Even Marty wasn't immune to Granger's show, because one could see his resolve falter.

"I'm really sorry, but I didn't make it up that there's only one spare room. Are you going to take it or not?"

Draco glanced at the brunette witch, and they had a non-verbal debate about it before Granger gave a tiny nod - it wasn't like they could go anywhere else. He turned his head towards the keep again and said, "We take it."

The keys were exchanged, and Marty handed a piece of parchment to Granger. With a flirty wink, he explained, "That's my address. If you can't stand him anymore and need somewhere to crash, knock at my door, and I'll open it happily, darling."

The witch answered with a noncommittal smile Draco had seen her use when it came to Quidditch or Divination and equaled a serious telling off in Granger language. Draco didn't even give Marty a nod before he climbed the stairs to their floor, one question on his mind: what was it with Granger and having wizards at her feet?

*()*()*()*()*

Of course, there was only one bed. Not that there was enough space for two beds.

One bed magically proved against making it two. And how they tried.

Finally, Draco gave up with an impatient huff, "I guess I have to bear with you, Granger. But I'm going to need an unhealthy amount of alcohol in my system before I sleep in the same bed as you." In his earlier years, he would have downright refused to even sleep in the same room as the brunette bookworm, but he had definitely seen his errors of those days. Thank Merlin for that, definitely not thank Salazar.

She blew an unruly curl from her face before she replied, "I'd gladly stun you and let you sleep in the shower, mate." A little stinging hex would be okay, wouldn't it?

"You should be all girly about this opportunity, really. I mean, when we come back, you can boast about how you spent the night with the Draco Malfoy," he smirked with an air of sarcasm.

"Oh yes, I'm going to have a mug designed for the office. Slytherin green with a silver script next to a photo of you: 'Spent the night with this one and he survived it'."

Alright, that amused him a fraction, even if it was a joke at his expense. Who knew Granger could be funny without quoting molecular structures or century old facts?

A bit later, they had a simple dinner in a secluded booth of the pub and a strong firewhiskey afterwards.

"I have a proposition," Granger started, and he couldn't stop himself to answer, "I knew it. Sooner or later, all witches fall for and proposition me."

With a fast move of her index, she sent a small electric jolt into his direction.

"Ouch!"

"As I said, I wanted to make a suggestion. We've known each other for so long, and now we're kind of stuck in one boat…" She exhaled forcefully, "Don't you think it's time we call each other by our first names?"

"What - Ophelia? Or the other?" he teased.

"The other! You know my name, Draco!"

To hear his name coming from her lips in her actually distinguished tilt was, for the lack of a better word, appeasing.

"Do I? It might leave a weird taste in my mouth, for all I know."

"You know, the fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself," she mocked him with a smile.

"While I'm sure there's a bird's nest somewhere in your family tree, I'm pretty you're no thing but a witch… Hermione." No weird taste. But a weird tingle in his ribcage. He did the reasonable thing and ordered another drink for him and… Hermione.

"Here's to first names!" The glassesclinked against each other, and Draco noticed the witch's eyes had the same colour as his whiskey. Were they always like that, or was it just the Glamour?

A comfortable silence settled between them, and they ordered a third round about twenty minutes later. Turned out, the brunette could hold her liquor - not only with wine, but also with firewhiskey. The only other witch he had ever seen drowning a third shot of contraband was his mother.

When Hermione knocked back the glass to catch the last of the drink, a single drop escaped and rolled down her neck, tantalising slow. Draco followed the liquid with his eyes like a hypnotised cobra until it disappeared in her cleavage.

Oh no.

He had to stop drinking now; he knew he got horny when drunk around witches. Usually, Astoria had read him perfectly and took him home to alleviate the tension - effectively and enjoyably. Now, live action was definitely not an option...right? By Snape, had there been some 'magic mushrooms' in his meal, and now he was hallucinating?

"Everything alright?" Granger's - Hermione's big, brown eyes were focused on him, her tone concerned. Great, he probably looked like he was trying to digest one of Daphne's attempts at baking. His remaining sober brain cells were fishing for a decent distraction and came up with a really good one.

"I had some weird ideas a second ago... maybe I know where we can find a working time turner. And you won't like it."

Hermione's cheeks, slightly pink from the alcohol, reddened even more.

"And you're telling me now? We've been here for hours and you-"

"-It's in Malfoy Manor." That stopped her, and something akin to panic fluttered over her features before she whispered, a strange urgency in her voice, "Go on."

"My grandfather had it made, I found it in a secret safe while the Manor was examined after the War. And I destroyed it." With effort, he schooled his voice and face to convey a calm demeanour, even when it had been a very emotionally cleansing event to break all bonds with the darkness.

The woman's eyes widened considerably. "You did?"

"Of course. What did you expect? That I gave it to my father for the resurrection of the Dark Lord?" A wave of coldness washed over him. Granger, of all people, was expected to be forgiving and trusting, right?

"No, Draco. I was… Gods, I was just surprised. I could have needed it for an examination, you know?" She was visibly affected by his harshness, although this reaction made him feel bad, almost guilty, for the first time.

"I suspected the Malfoys had one somewhere; there were some recurring rumours."

Draco's ears perked up.

"That's why I wanted you to be the replacement for Harry and Ron. I thought you could provide me with some insider information, and so I kind of nudged Harry into the right direction." Her eyes were fixed on her folded hands now.

"Why didn't you simply ask?" Draco was somewhere between angry and amused right now, and he began to really understand the brilliance of the witch in front of him.

"I thought that would be too straightforward, and you would probably ignore me."

"And instead, you manipulated Potter into assigning me to your case, and we had to take a journey back through time for you to explain yourself?"

Hermione raised her eyes, and their glances met. She looked like the perfect impersonation of a teacher's pet getting caught cheating, and that triggered something vaguely sensual in him. He had to get out of here.

"How very Slytherin of you, witch." That was the best compliment and insult he could give her before he fled from the warm and sticky pub.

*(*)* 

After having relaxed in the fresh evening air, Draco entered their room. The sneaky woman had already stripped - and a part of him regretted that it had only concerned the Glamour, while her clothes had been replaced by an oversized shirt and shorts.

And it was his.

"Granger…" he sneered.

"Those nightdresses are scratchy! Your things are much more comfortable." Without a second pause, she rattled on, "Besides, I've done some thinking."

"Did you ever stop?"

"I mean, we need definitely a way to get into the manor to retrieve the time turner."

Draco nodded, feeling his blood pressure rise as he observed fluffing up her pillow. Why, he had no clue.

"And that means we have to use an excuse to wander around there without being suspicious. What about applying for a job as a maid and a stable boy there?"

After shoving away images of Hermione in a short maiden uniform, Draco opposed her idea. "That sounds like something from a sloppy romantic novel, so a definite no. Everybody knows Malfoys don't hire human help; we have house elves. But the thing you can get every Malfoy with is the ego."

"Pray tell," the curly haired brunette snorted sarcastically.

"We convince my grandfather to open his doors for us in the sake of worshipping his status…"

"A book."

Draco looked at Hermione questioningly while she slipped under the covers.

"Well, we could pretend to write a book about influential pureblood families, and the Malfoys would undoubtedly fill a long chapter in it."

He couldn't very well admit that it was a brilliant plan now, could he? So he grumbled instead, "Mmh."

"What was that?"

"We could give it a try. But it's your fault if it doesn't work out."

He saw her sticking out her tongue at him again when he disappeared in the small bathroom to change into his pajamas. When Draco entered the bedroom again, Hermione was in the process of building a barrier with one of their pillows between their spaces.

"Very mature, woman. Afraid you'll cuddle me at night?"

"Afraid I'll kill you in my sleep." Her quip wasn't as heated as he expected it to be, and he noticed a trace of insecurity in the way she folded her blanket over herself. With a little wave of his wand, Draco switched the lights off after climbing into the bed, and darkness engulfed them.

"Many of us still have them," he waited a few heartbeats before going on, "Nightmares, I mean."

"I know. Usually, I don't wake up during them, but Ron told me I thrash around quite heavily and gave him some nasty bruises." Draco had to stifle a chuckle at this.

"I'll survive, Gr- Hermione. I survived the last time you broke my nose, remember?" Why in Salazar's name did he want to make her feel better? He really shouldn't. His musings were interrupted by some quiet giggles.

"It's kind of funny; the next person I share a bedroom over night with after the break-up with Ron is the Slytherin Prince himself."

Draco rolled on his back, foregoing the irony in her words, "So, this means you haven't had anyone over in your bedroom… for activities other than sleeping?" He actually pitied the witch. That would mean a dry spell larger than the Sahara.

"No, that's not what I said." Her playful words held a tiny speck of something very intriguing, but he didn't have it in him to ask her to clarify, though parts of him perked up with interest.

Surrounded by darkness, the image of her in the green dress appeared easily again. He had troubles finding sleep this night, and the peacefully breathing witch next to him only made things worse.

He blamed the time travel.

*()*()*()*()*

"Wake up, sleepyhead! It's already nine o'clock!"

Draco answered with a growl and threw his arm over his face to block out the light. And the tornado that was Hermione Granger in the morning. No wonder Potter went to save the world - he must have done so to escape her in the mornings.

"Go away." His voice was a little hoarse from sleep. Though, his words didn't have the desired effect, for he felt Hermione approaching the bed.

"I swear, you're worse than Ron!" she huffed impatiently, and before he could dish out that he wasn't worse than the Weasel in any chosen category, she forcefully pulled his blanket from his warm body. That again left him exposed to her view, or, to be precise, him and his excited morning wood. Draco propelled himself into a sitting position, what allowed him to cover his cherished parts with his shirt.

Thankfully, the witch was occupied with giggling at his hair, and he swore he could see her hand twitching as if she wanted to run it through his locks.

"Come on, I already sent an owl to Malfoy Manor requesting to accept us in an hour. And I want us to go down to breakfast before that."

"Down for breakfast? I planned to order from the room service menu." His brain slowly woke up.

"Nonsense. We're going to eat at the buffet and observe the other guests a bit. That's fun!"

"I'm a Malfoy. We don't do buffets."

She scanned his bedridden appearance again before smiling mischievously, "Doesn't look like it at the moment. You're Bilius Langdon now. You'll do a buffet and you'll like it." With that, she disappeared from the room.

When Draco sipped his strong tea with the perfect amount of sugar and spread orange marmalade on his buttered slice of toast, because that was all he needed in the morning (and even the room service in the Leaky Cauldron could have provided that), he had to admit it was quite charming to sit with the other guests. Or maybe it was only charming because the glamoured witch next to him was busy reading and eating and, therefore, didn't bother him.

After his third slice of toast, his brain cells had enough sustenance to begin their designated work, meaning: teasing Granger and getting home.

"Those are more than just yesterday's news, don't you agree? I don't understand why you even read them."

The Daily Prophet rustled when she put it down. "I'm researching, trying to get a feel for this time."

"The only thing I have so much as a feel for in this time is the way my family ticks, and that should be enough input for that busy brain of yours." Crap, he payed her a compliment. No, that wasn't a compliment, that was an intelligently veiled insult. Yeah.

"Then tell me, oh Malfoy One, what expects us behind the doors of your ancestral home?" WIth mock praise, the woman rested her head on her propped up hand and twirled one of her slightly tamer curls around the fingers of her other hand.

"Uhm… okay, let's begin with the inhabitants of the manor for today; my parents aren't married yet, but my father is in the process of choosing a wife from a group of prospects, and the marriage contract will be signed in October. He has the reputation of being quite a playboy, having bedded most of the appropriate witches in Hogwarts and afterwards. He's talented and smart, and he knows it sure as Hell. He graduated two or three years ago, a year before my mother, and works in the family business now. I believe you know the rest of what there is to know about my dear Father; he's a first class egomaniac."

Hermione nodded in understanding and he recognised her facial expression as one she had when studying in a library, as he had ample time to see her doing that in school and in the Ministry.

"I don't know much about my grandmother Winifred; she died in 1979."

"Natural death?"

"No. A cursed locket." For a second, he believed she wanted to ask, but he spared her the question before she got a stroke over suppressing it. "Yes, the very same I used in Sixth Year." To give her credit, she remained unfazed, and his heart made a funny little jerk because of it.

"What about your grandfather? Was he a sympathiser of Voldemort later on?" Both of them knew that Tom Riddle had slowly begun with his evil work, but he posed no threat in 1975 yet.

"He was a sympathiser of everything that brought power to the Malfoy family. He firmly believed in blood-supremacy and the hierarchy in the wizarding world. Like my father, he could politely poison the person in front of him just because of his lineage."

"So, a classic pureblood arsehole and macho?"

Draco gave a low chuckle, "Yes, essentially. But he, in contrary to my father in his younger years - alright, in his years until recently - was a family man behind closed doors. He rocked me on his knees, took me flying and hunting, explained the Malfoy legacy to me - that stuff."

"Lovely images," Hermione commented, and he detected a strange sense of melancholy in the words.

*()*()*()*()*

Draco walked the distance from the wrought iron gates to the entrance for the first time since the age of ten and sensed the mounting tension in the witch walking next to him.

He realised that this was probably the first time she had entered his family home since the War, and as it was impossible for him to forget that day, he could only imagine how she must feel. The blond placed a hand on the small of her back, startling her from her thoughts.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I think. I just have to tell myself again and again that this horrible day has both not yet happened and has been over for years."

"Time traveller benefit, eh?" he tried to alleviate the tension in her with a lame joke and grinned back when her lips curled. Nevertheless, he observed her closely when they entered the giant building with a house elf as a guide. Aside from a slightly accelerated breathing, she showed no signs of distress, and that made him proud. She was such a strong willed woman.

He made the plan to observe his environment more attentively when they came back, but for now, he saw himself confronted with the younger version of his grandfather, sitting behind his massive mahogany desk in what would be his own study in the manor one day.

Abraxas raised his head and stood upon their entrance, his black robes impeccable and his long, so characteristic platinum hair pulled together with a ribbon.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Miss Croft." He took Hermione's hand and breathed a polite kiss on the back of it to which she smiled politely. Then the man gave him a slight bow of his head, "Mister Langdon."

"Mister Malfoy, such a pleasure to meet you. We're so glad that you could grant us some of your time in your tightly filled schedule," Draco spoke, purposefully toning down his usual aristocratic drawl.

"The pleasure is all mine. Take a seat." No offering of a tea, Draco analysed while sitting opposite the desk, he's not sure of the outcome of this meeting.

"It is so exciting to see the grand Malfoy Manor from the inside, I have to admit. It is such an impressive building." The woman gave her best impression of a child in a candy shop, he noticed, amused.

"It is, without a doubt, the oldest home among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but how do you know? Did my son tell you about it? You must be close to Lucius in age, I guess, at the same time in Hogwarts like him, for sure. Though, your names are unfamiliar. Maybe you weren't in Slytherin?"

Draco was aware that was the polite way of his grandfather to ask whether someone was a pureblood, and he had expected something like this. "We haven't visited Hogwarts, the both of us. Ophelia - Miss Croft - was homeschooled, and I visited Beauxbatons because my parents lived in France back then."

"Homeschooled?" Alright, he hadn't prepared for a second question in that direction, and he was a bit unsettled at it. Think quick now, Granger!

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. My grandparents were both very old when they took me away from my parents due to..." The witch's had her eyes on her folded hands and gave a shaky breath as if very uncomfortable with her next words, "- My father's… unfortunate heritance. That's why I grew up pretty isolated."

He could have kissed her then. And then slapped himself for it. Such a good move, Draco applauded internally; now Abraxas had to think she was raised by purebloods of lesser stance but with enough belief in the blood supremacy to take her away from her parents and raise her in their beliefs. That made her acceptable to move around the manor and with believable empty slots concerning the society circus.

Hermione had just caved them a way in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love for MrBenzedrine, who also gave me some substantial input for this chapter and the story as a whole *hearts*. Btw, it was her birthday on Sunday (*throws confetti*) and I wrote a story as a gift for her, it's called "Unrelenting Sanity" and pretty dark. Maybe check it out nonetheless? It would really boost my confidence for trying to write that kind of stuff.

Hermione was surprised how noticeably Abraxas reacted on her little play.

"That sounds downright cruel, Miss Croft. The pureblood society is such a loyal community, and it's an honest pity that you've missed out to be a part of it," Draco's grandfather intoned with the almost-familiar aristocratic drawl.

"I've read about the old ways so much, and that's what motivated me to write this book. I am lucky to find a very interested partner in Mister Langdon." While said partner probably suppressed an epic eye-roll at her 'Duchess of libraries'-tone (Ron's words), the older wizard nodded in understanding.

"Motivation and a thirst for knowledge, both excellent requirements to make yourself a name in our circles, and that's very important for that venture of yours. Let's begin that with an invitation for tea tomorrow with my family." 50 points for Gryffindor! Hermione thought, highly satisfied.

*()*()*()*()*()*

She kept her laughter back until they Apparated back to Diagon Alley, but as soon as the usual dizziness faded, Hermione nearly doubled over in mirth.

"Hahahaha… he really believed….huhuhu…. so easy… haha," was all she could say, her breath coming out in huffs.

Draco studied her like she had gone loony at first before he joined her. Not with fully blown laughter, but with chuckling noises and that boyish, playful smile she really liked.

"Come on, witch, let's get you off the street before someone admits you to the Janus Thickey ward," he stated after some minutes, "I'll lead you to your natural habitat." With a chivalrous gesture, he extended his arm, which Hermione took without hesitation.

It felt a little strange to walk around the buzzling wizarding street so close to Draco Malfoy, but that had more to do with the lack of stares and curious glances they usually attracted, and not the fact that it felt perfectly natural to have their arms entwined. The proximity made things in her stomach aflutter, but she decided to ignore that for now. Though, the fact his eyes sparkled when they entered Flourish and Blotts made it all much harder.

Draco gently pried her arm from his and drawled, "I know you're itching to gather some information about the pureblood society, so I'm going to let you off the leash for a while. Behave." With that, he left her standing in the middle of the shop and advanced to the Potions section.

Why was it always such an act to go here with Harry and Ron like they were allergic to printed parchment and paper? All those thoughts vanished the second she lay a finger on the first spine.

Hermione didn't know how long she browsed through the books, stacking those she intended to purchase, immersed in a fascinating matter. Granted, she already knew some of the things written down about the traditions and still had the feeling the studies provided more of an outsider's view, but there was nothing like the rush of knowledge.

At some point, her eyes searched for her blond companion, and, when they finally spied him, she had to swallow hard; with his back against a bookshelf, Draco (even in disguise) was a vision. His eyes were fixated on the book resting in his hands, and his face was contorted in an expression of 'bliss by reading.' Nonetheless, his posture was relaxed, and he was an epitome of casual intellectuality. He could pose as cover model for 'Naughty Librarian Monthly' like this. She'd be the first to subscribe.

Fascinated, Hermione's mind was flooded by the image of him reading on a sofa with a cat (remarkably resembling Crookshanks) curled up in his lap and herself next to him... Uhm, no, a cat next to him and myself curled up in his lap, one of his hands stroking the sensible skin of my neck… damnit! She chastised herself for the fantasies of an undersexed bookworm.

She didn't fulfill that cliché usually; her last shag with Greg Diggle from the Improper Use of Magic Office had simply been lacking… pasión? verve? most certainly a certain wetness on her side.

She scrutinised Draco's physique. Rationally, she could explain why witches, even beautiful ones like Astoria Greengrass, threw themselves at him: he had a strong jaw, expressive cheekbones, broad shoulders, and was an overall handsome male specimen. And those eyes...yes, to sum it up, he was very symmetrically satisfying. That had to trigger a strong response from sexually mature females - an evolutionary compulsion, if you will. Recent studies stated…

She realised she was trying to convince herself in her head that it was okay to find Draco attractive. Who was she to contradict her own mind? That didn't mean the thoughts were followed by actions!

The next second, he must have felt her staring at him, because his blue eyes glistened back at her, and she felt a blush creeping up her face, when his gaze bored into her. A perfectly natural reaction when around a potential mating partner, meaning a male in a certain age cohort. His following smirk over his book, though, made her feel anything but natural.

Great, sudden attraction towards her time traveling partner, coincidentally the bane of her childhood, was exactly what a witch needed.

Pushing the indecent fantasies aside, she concentrated on which books to buy. In the end, she pushed ten about wizarding society, and two novels, over the counter.

"Gr-, Ophelia, I know that after all the hits on the head you've taken in your youth it might have lessened your IQ, but I didn't expect it to be so bad that you can't differentiate between facts and fiction anymore." Draco pointed at one of the (obvious) novels, showing an attractive blonde witch in an intimate affair with a dark haired and obscenely muscled wizard.

Hermione stored away the information that Draco knew what an IQ was and elbowed him in his ribs. "That's for research purposes!" she hissed, eliciting an amused snort from the man.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you can research by reading sappy romances, mh?" In contrary to former arguments, his tone was entirely teasing.

"Social perspective. Like one can learn certain things about the English late eighteenth century by reading 'Pride and Prejudice'." Before he could ask about the novel she was referring to, Hermione shot back, gesturing towards the books he placed on the counter, "However, books on curse breaking and potions, that I can understand, but I'm seriously asking myself what magical gardening has to do with our lines of work."

While paying for their combined purchases, Draco merely shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a wizard of many talents! Gardening is a very understated branch of magic!"

She played her giggling down as a hiccup. "You sound like the one guy with the exceptional talent for herbology, you know; he developed a sudden liking of swords, if you remember." Draco paled a little when he understood the reference to Neville, though the colour came back with sudden force the moment he stopped in front of the window belonging to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He looked like a child on Christmas morning when he stared at the exhibited broom -which was no different from any other broom in the brunette's eyes, seriously.

"Ooh, maybe I can take this back with us? It would be a great 'antique' model when we return," he expressed, utterly fascinated.

She frowned, "You're rich. What does it matter?"

He gazed at her as if it was the most obvious question of the world. "Bragging rights! A mint condition Corona model broomstick? Do you know how bad Zabini would want to fuck it?"

"Too much information..." Hermione wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to replace her recent Draco-involving-contemplations with Blaise-involving-nightmares.

And while Ron would have tried his puppy eyes expression now, Draco actually reasoned, "You with your absolute lack of flying talent wouldn't understand it, but a broom is a useful tool for a wizard, especially when a wand is of no help."

Hermione recalled some of the times a broom had, indeed, been helpful for her and her friends: the Winged Keys of the Devil in their first year, the Harry Almost Roasts And Summons his Broom Encounter at the Triwizard Tournament, and, the closest one, the Room of Requirement Inferno.

Finally, she nodded, "Alright, I guess-" Before she could finish, the blond had entered the shop, depriving himself of the words 'Maybe you are right' coming from Hermione Granger's mouth.

With the wrapped broom in tow, they made it back to the Leaky Cauldron. Immediately, she settled on the bed with her new books and started reading. Beguiled with all the new information she soaked up, she didn't realise that she had spent hours engrossed in the books until she felt a gentle nudge at her shoulder.

"Hermione, aren't you hungry? It's already half past nine."

"Huh?" She glimpsed up at Draco, who held a plate of sandwiches in his hands.

"Food? You need to eat. Otherwise, this pretty head of yours won't be useful." Pretty head? Did he just compliment her on her intelligence?

"Thank you, Draco. I would've continued with reading well into the night otherwise."

An almost shy smile was his answer before it developed to his characteristic smirk.

"Just you know, I ordered from the room service, and you'll like it!"

They were the best sandwiches she had since Hogwarts, not that she'd tell him.

*()*()*()*()*()*

Hermione awoke from deep slumber the next morning, for once feeling well rested. With the exception of the night before, she very rarely made one night without waking up at least twice. She blamed the difference now on the very primal part of her brain that assured her sleeping in male company was safer than sleeping alone.

Taking the sounds of running water from the bathroom and the very precisely folded clothes on the stool as a hint, Draco had to be taking a shower. She appreciated his structure and order, for it had been a permanent reason for arguments between her and Ron when he left all his clothes laying around.

The minutes went by, and the wizard still hogged the bathroom. Hermione should have expected that, because Draco… well, was still a peacock. No longer waiting for him to finish, although a bit hesitant to leave the warm bed, she got up.

Her own clothes lay prepared on the stool beside her side of the bed. While she shrugged her sleeping clothes off, the brunette debated if she could risk going commando, because those outdated cotton underthings were simply awful. Then she heard a key turning in a lock, and, in her panic of Draco Malfoy potentially seeing her naked, pulled the grandmother panties up and threw on the first piece of clothes her fingers touched - which turned out to be her white undershirt from the day before. She desperately wanted to check if her nipples were shining through the fabric, but she couldn't, because she was mesmerised by the sight before her.

Draco stood there with only a towel slung around his hips and his hair dark with dampness. It was perfectly tousled and still released drops of water on his chest. The visual of his upper body reminded Hermione exactly why she had a thing for Quidditch players and Aurors. He possessed very defined muscles on his arms, chest, and abdomen without looking bulky, and she really wanted to feel if they were as hard as they seemed to be.

For sure, her nipples reacted at the same time as her head and pebbled immediately. That was when she realised she only wore a flimsy white shirt that was probably a bit see-through and did nothing to hide her momentary attraction to the remarkably handsome male standing a few feet away from her. Draco's grey eyes flickered to her breasts for a moment, and she could swear she saw the colour darken in them.

To cover her embarrassment, Hermione said the first thing that came to her mind, "I really need some appropriate underwear." Though, she didn't mention that maybe it was also because her current pair was a tiny bit damp now.

*()*()*()*()*()*

"Why won't you let me go alone?"

"Because it's potentially dangerous, and I am assigned to protect you." Draco insisted to accompany her on her private shopping trip.

"It's the muggle world, Draco - it's hardly threatening, especially after all the shit we've been through." She didn't say the word 'War' aloud, but her implications were clear.

"And I can hardly believe you when all the buses drive like they are the Knight Bus!" He pointed at one of the famous red vehicles that raced down the street with a breathtaking speed.

Hermione smiled at his almost panicked expression. "I assure you, I can handle that. After all, I grew up around traffic much worse."

Draco wouldn't budge and folded his arms in front of his chest defiantly, which provided her with an interesting impression of his biceps.

"Fine. But, for once, let me choose my clothes on my own. I don't want to end up with boring cotton again," she stated.

The blond tilted his head like a dog listening to a whistle, "So, you're more a lace and silk type of witch? Maybe garter belts, too?"

In a bout of sudden giddiness, she placed her hand on one side of his face and smiled impishly. "Wouldn't you want to know? Though, I'm not convinced you could handle the answer." With that, she turned and continued her walk down the busy street. He caught up with her some seconds later, his eyes slightly glazed over. In the protection of the anonymous mass of people around them, they discussed some parts of their plans.

Hermione declared to Draco that they had to get the time turner into their hands for research purposes.

"Why can't we simply take the one from the manor to travel back?" he requested before answering his own question with a sigh, "Because it wouldn't be there when I exorcise the ghosts of the past in our time, and that could change things."

"Correct, so we have to get it to examine it and build our own one."

Draco smirked at her, "Yes, because you only lay on your hands on things with the intention to study them."

Hermione quipped back, intending to throw him off, "Yes, that's how we bookworms lose our virginity."

The wizard's reaction was priceless as he coughed violently to cover his abashment. "That's a bit… intimate."

"Pft, we're sleeping in one bed, Draco, how much more intimate could it be between the two of us?" She winked and sent a coy smile in his direction.

"Believe me, that's a huge field to study," Draco muttered under his breath so she could barely understand him. She liked the darker shade his voice had taken.

And, fuck it all, maybe she enjoyed flirting with him a could get back at each other's throat when they got back. That was a plan.

Suddenly, Draco stiffened slightly. She suspected the change in his posture wouldn't be possible to detect for an onlooker, but her war trained senses shrilled in alarm. Sle lay a hand on his arm that didn't wander in close proximity to his wand holster, "What happened?"

"We're being followed," the Auror answered lowly and gripped her by her arm, leading her to a less frequented side street.

"By whom?"

"I don't know who he is - a dark haired guy, nondescript features, maybe an inch or two shorter than me. Muggle clothes." Draco, now fully slipping back into his professional role, rattled down. "At first, I thought he was coincidentally walking in a certain distance from us, but he stayed behind us for the last two turns."

"Draco, don't you think you're overreacting? I mean, we're glamoured, and no one knows us here. Not to mention the fact that we're on the muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron." Hermione's reasoning seemed to calm the man down a bit, but he still had a protective grip around her arm. She didn't know if she should be annoyed or complimented by that.

"Please humour me, and let's apparate back to the Leaky, yes?"

The blue orbs and the commanding, yet concerned tone of his made it difficult for Hermione to resist, and, finally, she gave in with a nod.

After casting a temporary Glamour to make them practically invisible, they Apparated back to their room, which Draco had smartly keyed on their Apparition signatures.

As soon as they both had rematerialised, he was apologetic, "If I weren't an Auror on a mission, I'd say I'm sorry to have interrupted your shopping trip. We're only postponing it, I promise."

She saw him gulp visibly at her next words, "Better make it tomorrow, because otherwise, I have to start wearing your boxers or go commando."

*()*()*()*()*()*

The previous day, Hermione had been nervous about entering the manor. After all, she had been tortured in that house, so she guessed it was normal she was a bit edgy. And, as paradox as it seemed, Draco's presence had considerably calmed her because the two of them walking peacefully together was the living, breathing example that change was possible.

Now the brunette was practically relaxed (as relaxed as one could be with a mission to find a time turner in Malfoy Manor) as they strolled up to the terrific mansion.

"My best guesses at where the time turner is are the private vault beneath the building or my grandfather's study. He only moved all the priceless possessions that weren't jewellery when he sensed the situation with Voldemort got dangerous," Draco explained.

"Then we should focus on these places first, even if I have no idea what our chances are," Hermione agreed, climbing the stairs to the entrance with a snake knocker. Typically Slytherin, she figured, you have to look up to the entrance to the pureblood legacy before you are allowed to caress the snake.

The nameless house elf lead them two a bright tea room with a wonderful view of the gardens. Draco stepped in before she did, shielding her from the people with his body. She really had to remind him that he had to refrain from that behaviour, as it made them look suspicious.

"Miss Croft, Mister Langdon, I am so pleased that you took up on my invitation for tea." Abraxas greeted them formally with a kiss on her hand and a slight bow of the head to Draco. The Malfoy patriarch stood regal and proud in perfectly tailored robes. On the settee next to him sat a lavender clad witch in her forties, her lips curved into a soft smile in ways of greeting.

"This is my dear wife, Winifred. And this is Lucius, my only son and heir."

The way he introduced Lucius fit perfectly to the posture of the young man, who approached them now; the long, platinum hair fell straight over his back, and the arrogance that poured from his smirk, which resembled Draco's so much, also reached his slated grey eyes.

A cold shiver went down Hermione's spine, and she had to suppress the urge to grab for her wand. At the same time, the witch could derive why the female population gave their left hands to be with him. His chiselled features were undoubtedly attractive and would only mature with age, as she knew. Still, she liked Draco's appearance much better, because where Lucius' orbs pierced like ice, his son's held a flame (she could ignite with a witty line easily). Alright, maybe she should concentrate on the progressive present.

"Miss Croft. Ophelia. What brings a beautiful witch like you into the confines of our family?" Prat. He knew exactly; after all, he had addressed her by her first name. Hermione felt tempted to pull her hand away when he pressed his lips on the back of her hand. While Abraxas had left it at a polite ghosting of his breath over her skin, Lucius went for direct skin contact. She more sensed than saw Draco stiffen next to her.

Inwardly, she laughed a bit, because now she could rub under Draco's nose that the first kiss she got from a Malfoy was from his father… though, that didn't imply she expected kisses from the younger heir any time in the future… or the past...or whenever - right?

With effort, she pulled herself from her thoughts and smiled politely at Lucius.

"It's my work that leads us here, Mister Malfoy. We expect to learn so much about your family and your noble circles."

Before Lucius could answer, they could hear the melodious ringing of a small bell.

"Ah, speaking of circles. Our guests have arrived," Abraxas announced and turned his body towards the door.

"May I introduce you to our family's close friends, Druella, Bellatrix, and Narcissa from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"

Hermione froze and felt panic spreading in every cell of her body. Whoever invented time travel had a sick sense of humour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Draco's question for the garter belt is largely inspired by Oracle Obscured's "Quartet"!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Easter Holidays! Somehow, that doesn't mean less work... anyway, here's the next chapter. It got a little out of hand, because there's not so much plot development, but those Malfoys were very convincing and wanted to be in the spotlight.
> 
> I know, you've read this like a million times, but, nonetheless, a huge thank you for MrBenzedrine89! Of course, she patiently beta'ed my mess, but she also helped me a great deal with the character development as well as some hilarious conversation. So hug and kiss her for me when you meet her, yes?
> 
> Disclaimer: Like Harry Potter and stuff I don't own 2001, either. And I don't make money with it. But I own a Toyota Yaris, so yay!

For once, Hermione's wand hand overruled her brain and acted on pure instinct; in a movement embedded in the war, it short circuited her logical reasoning that this wasn't the Bellatrix Lestrange that tortured her some steps away from where she stood, the vinewood wand was in her hand. Hermione's eyes rested on the young raven-haired woman in her early twenties who, without a doubt, already had the aura that made other people gag. Her thin lips were pressed into a forced smile, but she had the regal posture Hermione had also observed in pureblood witches like Pansy Parkinson.

Draco, probably equally delighted about this unexpected family reunion, thankfully used his skills as an Auror - and promptly grabbed her arm in mid-movement, pretending to catch her while cleverly slipping her wand from her fingers. "Ophelia, you clumsy witch, don't stumble over your own feet," he announced with his usual air of snobbishness, convincingly enough for the others to only look at her with pity.

"Thank you, Bilius. What would I do without you." She knew she was laying it thick now, and probably there were a dozen snarky replies forming in the blond's head, like 'Rotting in the library? Petting your ugly cat alone in your flat? Having a decent time?' - the last one was her favourite, though.

It would have been too easy to finish Bellatrix off in 1975, wouldn't it? Yes, time line implosion and all, she was aware, but a girl could dream. What wasn't a dream at all, however, was the glare from the witch she assumed was Draco's maternal grandmother, Druella Black. She gave 'Ophelia' a once over and must have categorised her on the same level as a house elf. Her companion's pedigree kicked in, and he stepped forward; in the process, he discreetly pushed her wand into her back pocket again.

"May I introduce myself, m'ladies, I am Bilius Langdon," he breathed a kiss on Druella's, Bellatrix' and Narcissa's outstretched hands, following the protocol and starting with the eldest. "And this is my colleague, Ophelia Croft." As Hermione had no idea how she should behave in this greeting ceremony, she gave an implied courtesy. And, judging by the way Abraxas lips curled up, it was the right choice.

After Lucius and Winifred had welcomed their guests respectively, and Hermione had noticed how considerably longer Lucius's touch lingered on his future wife, Abraxas led them to the tea table. Normally, Hermione would have cherished the opportunity to study the tea ceremony among the wizarding elite, but she still struggled with the bile travelling up and down her throat. That was why, when Abraxas asked if someone wanted a brandy to accompany the tea, she all but yelled, "Yes, thank you!"

She must have stepped into Hippogriff shit with this line, because Draco gave her a not so gentle kick against her shin, and the others looked at her like she had screamed, 'Equal rights for muggleborns!'

"You must pardon Miss Croft's unusual etiquette," Abraxas spoke up. "She was forsaken the right to learn certain things as her parents weren't adept to do so, and her kindred grandparent's had already reached an honourable age." Hermione tried hard not to blush from embarrassment, because Abraxas had practically presented her like a showpony and scolded her at the same time - like she did with Crooks when he chewed on her toothpaste. The other's reaction ranged from honest pity (Winifred) to open disdain (Druella).

Draco leaned into her and whispered, "It isn't becoming of a proper lady to demand a drink with tea. It's a gentlemen's thing." His breath ghosting over her skin made goosebumps erupt on the side of her neck.

"Croft, you say?" Druella intoned sharply, "I can't seem to remember that family name. And I've certainly never met you. Then again, a plain girl like you is hard to recall after a few minutes." Hermione gulped down a harsh response. "And Ophelia: what kind of a name is that?"

"Actually, it comes from the works of a famous author, William Shakespeare," the muggleborn witch brought forth with difficulty.

"A muggle?" She could hear the hidden venom drip from the older witch's words. No surprise why Bellatrix was such an utter bitch.

To her astonishment, it was Narcissa who shared, "He has some quite interesting observations about the power of magic and divination for an outsider." Her enthusiastic expression was quickly replaced by remorse when her mother shot a glare at her. When Narcissa's eyes fell on her hands, Hermione noticed, for the first time, that Draco's mother had entirely black hair, and she made a mental note to herself to interrogate Draco about this fact when they came back to their room. If they made it back and Hermione wouldn't accidentally erase the Malfoy line by using the fork the wrong way or something.

Over tea, the group conversed casually - or at least, Hermione thought it was casually. You always had to be cautious where to step in a snake pit.

Winifred did her best to interrogate Draco, "Mister Langdon, as I understood, you visited Beauxbatons? I'm only familiar with Hogwarts, so it would be quite intriguing to learn about a different way of teaching. Tell me about your time there." Draco's paternal grandmother had a soft, very melodious voice, and Hermione couldn't imagine her in a Slytherin environment.

"From what I've heard, the subjects taught are very similar: Charms, Potions, Transfiguration and such." For the first time ever, the young witch was thankful for the Triwizard Tournament, because living a year in close quarters with the transfer students had provided them with an insight of the other schools.

"Which subject was your favourite one?" Winifred wanted to know.

"Potions," came the blond's response without hesitation. Not that it came as a surprise, since Hermione was pretty sure that Snape had shown no favouritism to Draco, even if gossip stated otherwise. He simply had an intuitive brilliance for it, and she'd be an idiot not to acknowledge it.

Abraxas engaged in the chat now, "Yes, a fascinating subject. Lucius has this friend who is quite adept at brewing - are you familiar with the uses of dragon blood?"

Draco nodded to that, and Hermione automatically recounted them in her head. Once an excellent student, always an excellent student. That was, until Mister-I-was-attentive-in-Potions-but-not-in-History-of-Magic proceeded, "I remember writing a long essay about the twelve uses of dragon blood for class, yes."

"Twelve?" Narcissa interrupted, and Hermione stopped lifting her teacup to her mouth in mid-air, because it was her turn for a kick against Draco's shin, "I thought there were only ten widely known uses, eleven after Severus' discovery some weeks ago."

"You must excuse him, he only barely passed Arithmancy," the brunette interfered with a sugary sweet voice. Oh, she'd so pay for that, especially since she knew Arithmancy was the one subject next to Potions Hermione had scored only a bit higher than the handsome wizard next to her. She couldn't fathom if the pink hue of his cheeks was caused by embarrassment or anger.

Then Druella, the disdainful dunce, suggested, "I assume you'd be delighted to learn about some talent's of the Blacks, wouldn't you, Miss Croft?" and Hermione so wanted to reply, 'Like curving insults with cursed knife into a victim's skin? Like sending people through mysterious veils?' but instead, she said,"Yes, of course, Mrs. Black."

The older witch's eyes gleamed with politely covered resentment, "Well, my Narcissa is a marvelous chess player. How better to demonstrate that in a little game between the two of you?"

Ugh. Chess - as exciting as Quidditch, but without the nice view of the male players. However, in contrary to the sport on brooms, she could apply the rules and make a decent player herself. You couldn't live around Ron and Harry without picking up a thing or two.

*()*

Turned out, Druella hadn't overestimated her pretty daughter as Hermione soon realised. It was an hour into the battle, and all eyes were on them. The witch felt her mind soaring at the intellectual challenge and looked at Narcissa in newfound admiration. No wonder the woman could lie to Voldemort; she was so much more intelligent than her looks told, and it gave her the perfect distraction to ignore Bellatrix' haughty presence.

When it was the other woman's move again, Hermione glanced at the two people closest to them: Lucius and Draco. Both had their mouth open a fraction, eyes fixed on the women next to both sides on the chessboard. She caught Draco's view, and, when their eyes locked, she had to take a deep breath to steady her heartbeat, because he wore exactly the same expression as in the morning when she had been almost naked. Could it be arousal? Then what was it with Lucius, who had an identical expression, and Narcissa?

"Miss Croft, I believe it's your turn," Narcissa spoke, and Hermione forced her concentration back to the board, analysing her opponent's last move. It really was like a battle - like an odyssey.

She really had no idea how her brain worked at times and was only happy it did, because it was such a useful tool, storing unimportant facts safely in the hind left corner until she needed them.

"I'm sorry, I think you missed it. Queen to bishop three." The white queen dutifully made her steps. Narcissa gasped, "Bishop takes queen, knight takes bishop." Hermione grinned. "Yes, you're right. Check mate, Miss Black."

Thank you, '2001: a space odyssey'.

With an honest smile, which Hermione returned, Narcissa tilted her head, "That was quite amusing. We should definitely come together on another day."

The two witches walked over to the sofas and armchairs where the others had made themselves comfortable. Hermione had just sat down next to Draco when the blond asked Abraxas, in a perfect imitation of a studious journalist, "How do you see the Malfoy family in twenty years, Mister Malfoy?"

She expected Draco was quite interested in his unsuspecting grandfather's answer, but Druella's expression, recently recovered from the shock of her youngest daughter losing against a house elf equivalent, showed interest.

Abraxas thought for about a minute before he answered, "An intelligent question, honestly. If we're talking about my wishes, I certainly expect the Malfoy family to prosper and flourish as it used to all through the centuries. In this line of thought, I'd be delighted to have a bunch of grandchildren to explain our legacy to. Lucius shows aspirations to become invested in the Ministry of Magic, and it would be a great pleasure if he got a weight in there, probably even was Minister himself. Furthermore," and here he tilted his head in Druella's direction, "I'd like to see a close connection to the Black family, as one of the eldest and meaningful wizarding families."

The older witch made a lip movement that could have been a smile, but instead looked like as if she ate one of Hagrid's cauldron cakes. Hermione replayed Abraxas' wishes for the future and couldn't help but notice that all of them had gone to waste with the exception of the connection between the Malfoys and the Blacks, which came true by the marriage of Lucius and Narcissa. The only time Lucius had seen the Ministry's inside to speak his mind was the day of his trial, when he narrowly escaped Azkaban again (after having failed once in between). Draco, as an only child, carried the responsibility to continue the line and clear its name after the Second WIzarding War.

"As we welcome a close connection with the Malfoys, Abraxas," Druella answered politely before her face lit up. "Oh, I haven't told you all yet, but my oldest daughter is working on a Mastery in Charms; she has such an remarkable talent!" Hermione found it very telling that Draco's grandmother spoke about Bellatrix, whom she nudged with her elbow to speak now.. After all, Andromeda had already been blasted from the family tree and Nymphadora would be two or three years old in 1975.

"Is that true, Bellatrix? What are you working on at the moment?" Winifred asked, again showing her conversational skills.

"Thanks for asking, Winifred." Bellatrix' voice was like nails on chalkboard for Hermione, even if the woman spoke calmly. However, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She only had, somewhat, gotten used to the floozy being in the same room and had been grateful that she hadn't said a word so far besides the greeting.

"It seems I have a talent for object magic, and I'm working on embedding certain spells in objects."

"Like the Gemino spell?" An image of the Lestrange vault popped up in Hermione's mind, as she automatically asked the question. Her brain didn't stop working because Voldemort's mistress was sitting in front of her.

"Yes, indeed. One of my specialities, to be exact. Shall I demonstrate?" She held up the teacup in her hand, and Hermione had to curl her hands into fists to stop them from shaking in an unhealthy mixture of ire and panic when the Black daughter's charcoal eyes met her own. How Hermione wished she could start a detrimental fire in them. Then, Draco stepped in for rescue - not that she needed saving, she would have been perfectly happy to channel her inner Ron now by hurling an arsenal of literal and figurative curses at the witch.

"I'm afraid that has to wait for another time. To our defense, we have a meeting with our publisher in a few minutes," Draco explained with an air of confidentiality that made the brunette believe there had to be a mandatory training for spot-on lies for Slytherins, "But let me express that this has been such a helpful and yet delighting afternoon for us." He stood and began to say his goodbyes, even managed to press a fake kiss on Bellatrix' hand. Hopefully he had a good sanitary spell on call.

When it was Hermione's turn, Abraxas kept her hand in his for a moment, covering it in a gesture of displaced familiarity. "Such a pity, indeed. We can't let you go into the writing process without showing you some more aspects of the Malfoys, and one of them is our ardor for Quidditch. We're regular visitors, especially of the international games. What would you think of an invitation to the England-Germany game the day after tomorrow?"

She managed to extricate her hand from his grip with what she hoped was an excited smile. "It would be a pleasure, Mister Malfoy. Thank you for providing us with such an opportunity."

*()*()*()*()*

The second they had Apparated to their room at the Leaky, Draco observed Hermione pouring herself a huge glass of firewhiskey from the mini-bar. She must have seen him looking, because she hissed, "What, Malfoy? Am I still not allowed to drink if I desire so? I tell you, my shin-kicking time is rapidly changing into a punch-the-ferret phase - one you are more than familiar with, if I recall correctly." Draco chuckled at her display of anger and was more than a little intrigued by the fire in her chocolate coloured eyes; her real ones, because she had already eradicated the Glamour with an impatient swish of her wand.

"Easy, spitfire," he raised his hands in a gesture of peace, lowering his voice to a gentle drawl he had heard experts use on dragons, which amused him even more. "A lady won't start drinking brandy with tea, because it's improper to get sloshed in company so early. She usually starts with wine and liquor before dinner, then gets to the hard stuff. So it's only tea with tea."

"How would I know?" she complained after knocking her drink back and placing it on the table with a loud thud! "It wasn't in the books! They are a fantastic and informative read, but most of it is basically simply about who had an illicit affair with whom!"

Her 'frustrated academic' behaviour was so riotous that he had to cover his bubbling laughter with sarcasm and a smirk. "You sure that wasn't the romance novel-clad erotica you insisted on buying and reading?" She sent an indignant glare in his direction, but he went on, "And me, an Arithmancy idiot, really? Couldn't you come up with something better?"

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, and Hermione exhaled with a heavy breath. She loosened her plaited hair and forced her hands through it, making it even more unruly than it already was. Though, the look suited her, somehow.

"Well, excuse me! I was busy controlling my temper and not hexing your dear auntie from the timeline." Even Draco could pinpoint the distress in her and approached her carefully.

"You handled the situation very professionally, and I would have been the last to complain had you decided to blast her into Voldemort-sized pieces of confetti," he tried to relieve the tension in her. "But my partner is awfully picky with keeping the timeline intact." He was rewarded with a dazzling smile and a nudge into his shoulder.

"Prat."

Satisfied with himself that he had managed to calm her, he returned to business, because it was important she was informed. "You know that you're basically a charity case my grandfather has taken under his wings? A poor, unfortunate halfblood witch that could easily be shaped into an award-winning showcase the other pureblood families envy him for?"

Hermione snorted, "No, really? You thought I didn't know that? That kind of social knick knack you can find in those books; it's chic for the elite to act like well-meaning patrons. And I assumed years ago that this was the kind of relationship your father and Snape had in the beginning."

Draco could only nod at Hermione's, once again proven, brilliance before the witch proceeded with her analysis, "Lucius and Voldemort saw something in Snape that the Marauders ignored or missed: his genius. And it bit them in the arse later on."

"The Marauders?" Draco said, asking for an explanation.

"Remus Lupin, James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew."

"I agree. But I have to point out that, from all the people we just mentioned, my father is the only one still alive," he brought forth.

"Yes, that's because he weaseled his way out - pun intended. By the way, what's this thing with your mother and your father?" Hermione had shrugged off her shoes and reclined on the bed now, her legs folded beneath her, which caused her skirt to ride up on her thighs, showing an amount of creamy skin there. Focus, Draco, now is really not the time to think about… doing things… with the Gryffindor Princess! he berated himself.

"Well, you see, if a daddy likes a mummy very much…" he quoted from Harry explaining James, the eldest of Potter's rascals, how it came that his mother had a baby girl in her belly. The most funny thirty minutes ever.

"You told me Lucius is a playboy these days, but that doesn't include Narcissa, right? He's intrigued by her intellect; I saw it when we played chess." The mask of indifference didn't work for Hermione, it seemed, because she could read the Malfoy men like a book. He just hoped she hadn't caught him ogling her at the chess game.

He poured them another glass of the mediocre contraband before he lowered himself on the stool by their bed. "My mother told me she and Bellatrix had been in an unspoken competition for my father. And even if they had a marriage contract, their relationship was built on trust, and, eventually, love. Father hasn't been with another witch since the day they announced their union. My grandmother, Druella, would rather have seen Bellatrix marrying into the Malfoy dynasty than Narcissa. She ended up with Lestrange, which, as we all know, wasn't that good for her mental health in the end, but my father had made his choice. Until August or September, my father won't make a move on my mother, only admire her from afar and screw some pretty witches in between - nothing serious. He appreciates intelligence and wit in a woman." And I am no different, he almost concluded.

"Soooo, you're actually telling me I was right?" A wicked smile spread on the brunette's face, and Draco knew he was in trouble when it sent excited signals towards his groin without asking his brain for permission.

"No, I merely concede that your observational skills are better than I expected in a Gryffindor."

She threw one of the pillows at him. And missed, which made him smirk.

"Very mature, Granger. No you're back to the outrageous behaviour your House is known for. Barbarians, all of them," he stated, though without malice. The giggle he heard when he closed the bathroom door did nothing to lessen the somewhat giddy feeling that had spread in his stomach. The thought of going lingerie shopping with the witch first thing in the morning - again - suddenly sounded somewhat dangerous.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to the BIGGEST SHINY FISH ever: MrBenzedrine89. Because I can. And without her, there wouldn't be one single from me. And, I'm afraid, she's pushed me over to the dark side...

Draco began to praise the Four Founders for their decision to build Hogwarts in the quietness of the cold and humid Highlands, and not in the middle of London. Imagine a bunch of magical children in the anarchy that was the city by the Thames, instead of the small, controllable perimeter of Hogsmeade? Draco himself would have been lost there as a boy outside of the protected precincts of Diagon Alley. And the only reason he survived the turmoil now was no other than his smart, muggleborn guide. Not that he’d tell her.

“Where is this lingerie shop?” he asked the witch when they, once again, maneuvered over various shopping streets. “I mean, why is a shop with such exclusive stuff away from the main roads?”

Hermione rolled her eyes in a fashion his mother would have had a Stinging hex upon her sleeve for. “It’s the seventies! Even when the sexual liberation is taking its turn with the pill bringing and sexual freedom for women and men in marriages, it’s still not perfectly decent to advertise such erotic goods between books and socks.” The gleam in her eyes when she poke of sexual freedom was nothing short of arousing for him, and, combined with the words of books and socks, a highly erotic image appeared in his mind: Hermione in thigh-high socks with an ebony coloured silken brassiere and only a book to cover the modesty between her legs.

His libido cheered, but he gulped this vision down and instead replied, “Though, there’s just a small gap to bridge for you between books and erotic, I bet.”   
The comfortable relationship with Astoria had made him unable to produce reasonable sentences in a lady's company, it seemed. Because instead of a witty comeback, his words sounded like an invitation to a private reading in his bedroom. Ugh! If that was what she did to a man like Draco, it was an explanation for why the Weasel had been so incoherent around her.

Thankfully, the object of his thoughts didn’t react on his verbal diarrhea, because she had, apparently, found what she was looking for. On a quiet side street was a small, inconspicuous shop with a simple sign on it, reading, ‘La Coquette’.

Two minutes later, Draco Malfoy was on the verge of a coronary. Lace, silk, ribbons… all made to torture him. And not in the good, tied to a bedpost beneath a gorgeous witch kind of torture. All this images, and then Hermione’s excited smirk as she rummaged through the various items - had they landed in the Middle Ages, things would have been a lot easier for him and more boring for his twitching appendage.

“Isn’t there some spell to block my view from all the indecent underthings?” he whined in a voice he wasn’t entirely proud of. 

“Stop crying, I’m certain you have seen more of these things on women than I care to wager,” Hermione countered, unimpressed with an accusing finger pointing at him. 

Draco smirked and wrapped his fingers around the offending digit, swinging it to the right and left. “That ma ybe, but it’s only for a short span of time, because it’s only the wrapping for the fun underneath!” For good measure, he winked at the Gryffindor Princess and ignored the warmth that travelled up his arm upon practically holding the woman’s hand.

“My theory is that you’re afraid of this,” Hermione waved around the store with her free hand, “all in relation to me,” she pointed at herself with the other hand. “But it’s perfectly normal to fear what you can’t understand or handle.” Her tone was challenging now, and Draco gave into the rush of what he would describe as foreplay. He kept his grip on her hand, effectively covering it with his, and stepped behind her until his body touched hers lightly and he could feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt. Leaning forward, he huskily drawled next to her ear, “I could handle you in a way that would make you forget the year we’re in.” 

He definitely didn’t imagine the shiver that went through Hermione’s body. Draco moved even closer and finally let go of her hand before he stretched his arm to reach for one of those knickers that covered everything (but were still unbelievably skimpy.)

”That should be your size, Miss Granger, am I correct?” He couldn’t think straight with her so close to him, especially not when she turned around in the space between his arms, and another whiff of her unique scent tickled his sex drive. “Excellent taste, Mister Malfoy. I really like the choice of coloration. It suits me, as someone recently told me.” She ducked under his arms and walked over to the changing cabins, but not without giving him a coquettish smile of her own. 

He stared at the piece of fabric in her hands; without consciously deciding, he had grabbed an emerald green combination with a silver embroidery. Hermione mercifully stayed in the cabin to change alone and didn’t show him her outfits. No way she would have failed to see the tightness that had developed in his pants.

Merlin, did he need a decent wank.

*()*()*()*()*

For the love of Salazar, Draco couldn’t remember how he survived the trip to the lingerie shop - only that they left it forty minutes later, and the witch next to him had two large bags in her hands with an expression like the cat who had devoured the canary.

“We’re heading back our hotel now? Or is there anything else the lady needs for her well-being?” Draco wanted to know.

“Actually, there is. I wanted to buy some supplies near our hotel.” The blond realised Hermione hinted at something magical, and they haven’t had any privacy charms up, before she casually added, “Oh, and I need to visit an apothecary for something.”

“What could you possibly want to buy in an apothecary here?” he wondered.

“That I’d rather not make public.” 

Why did she glare at him? Then, he saw how the witch adjusted the bags on her shoulders, only to rub her lower bag in a movement that would seem inconspicuous, hadn’t it been - Draco cursed internally, slightly horrified - hadn’t it been for Potter and his warnings what would happen soon when Hermione rubbed her lower back like this. Every man’s final frontier: the mysterious menstrual cycle and its bloody beginning. He did the wise thing and kept quiet from then on, waiting in front of the apothecary with the excuse of ‘enjoying the sun’ for a few more minutes. Hermione looked at him as if he’d declared to break his wand and become a guitar player, or worse, an actor, but went in alone nonetheless.

After some minutes, he started to contemplate how long a woman needed to buy those… pesky cotton mice, when she stepped out again, a content smile on her face.

“Don’t be afraid, you escaped the dangerous muggle germs for now!” she teased him, obviously believing he didn’t come with her to avoid contamination. He huffed in annoyance; he was an Auror, after all. 

WIth a discrete wave of her wand, Hermione erected some wards to ensure the privacy of their conversation. “Don’t you want to know what I bought?” she almost bounced on her heels, the chestnut curls jumping.

“Nope, men don’t need to know everything,” he answered resolutely. 

The brunette stopped, her face suddenly thoughtful. “Wait, what? What do you believe I bought?” she intoned slowly.

He stammered, rubbing his hand over his neck, and blushed slightly, “Uh…”

She tapped her foot impatiently. “Spill it, Tigger, red is an unbecoming colour for you!” 

“Who the bloody Hell is...nevermind.” And that was… correct on more than one level, he supposed. “Those things to… you know with this… tampons?” There, it was out.

Hermione blinked. And then she broke out into real, elated, and absolutely adorable laughter.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” He had no idea who that was, but it was no magician he knew. “You would know if I were on my period, believe me! And after, all the witches you had, including the Swedish minister’s daughter, I might add, you’re still too shy to speak about tampons? That’s so-” she hesitated before the mischievous smile spread on her face again, “cute!” She reached up to ruffle his hair.

He felt he should be enraged by her words and the hair ruffling, really; a Malfoy wasn’t cute! Devilishly handsome, cunning, intelligent, sexy - but cute? No. But, instead, he felt that fuzzy feeling bubbling up again.

He blamed the muggle germs.

*()*()*()*()*

Draco was very glad to be alone for a change, because Hermione, after she had dropped off her bags in their room, had informed him she would have to do some basic potions shopping to start working on the time solution. Apparently, some of the ingredients were inconspicuous and simple, and he trusted her to buy some supplies in Diagon Alley alone without starting a house elf revolution. Or so he hoped when he stepped into the shower. 

The witch surprised him again and again, and constantly kept him on the verge of… something. Salazar, why was it so difficult for him to handle Hermione? She was a witch - he could handle witches! What made her so different? Her intelligence? Her snark? Her confidence? That she wasn’t girly most of the time but definitively a 100% woman? How he wished he could talk with someone about these things! Astoria, for example, because even with her ex-status, she was a woman to confide in: his friend. Or Blaise, the Italian stallion (a nickname Draco’s friend absolutely hated); he would be so jealous if he ever got wind of the fact that Draco had the opportunity to see an old-fashioned Quidditch game. Sure, the brooms were slower and the gear less functional, but the referees were less strict, and the female uniforms were much tighter.

Two things happened simultaneously to make the blond’s train of thoughts jump on an entirely more sensual track: Draco spread a good amount of soapy sud over his intimate parts, and the image of Hermione in a Quidditch shirt popped up in the porn section of his brain. 

It is no ordinary shirt, but a Slytherin Quidditch jersey with the number 7 and the name ‘Malfoy’ on her back. And nothing underneath. His cock was really excited about the prospect and stood attention in an embarrassing short span of time; he really needed some stress release for his testicles. Draco knew it was a lost cause to replace his fantasy woman with someone realistic, and he let his imagination run free. 

Hermione lies back on the bed that resembles his own in Malfoy Manor, and spreads her legs wide for him. He can’t see it yet, but he knows she is bare between them, except for a well-trimmed patch of curls on her mound.

‘So you’re here to prove yourself worthy in my personal Quidditch team, Miss Granger?’ he asks, his voice deep and seductive. ‘I have to see what I’m working with, so fly a round solo for me to observe you.’ 

‘Anything for you, Mister Malfoy,” she replies with an undertone of wickedness, and her slender hands trail over her thighs, playfully wandering lower between her legs. WIth both hands, she gently massages her outer lips. He catches a whiff of her divine scent. 

Draco’s cock throbbed persistently now, and - in his fantasy and in reality - he tugged on it to ease the tension. 

‘Have you seen enough yet?’ she asks huskily. 

‘No, I need to see more. Have you seen the snitch yet? It’s a small, very sensitive nub.’ The intelligence witch she is, Hermione catches his meaning and begins to circle her clit with the right hand. Her resulting moans are pure sex. He feels her eyes on him but is mesmerized by her fingers working on her bundle of nerves. 

His hand fisted his hard dick faster now, while he moaned unashamedly at the sensations the fantasy and his touches brought.

Her gaze constantly switch between his eyes and his member, even when he continues, ‘You should always occupy the bludgers. Dangerous balls, quite a handful.’ She doesn’t need his guidance then. All on her own, her left hand travels up to her beautiful breasts, cupping them, circling the nipples through the fabric and hardening them to the extreme. 

Draco sped up his movements over his hard length even more, his own balls slowly tightening in anticipation of orgasmic pleasure. 

‘And now, make a goal for me, straight through the loop.’ The wetness glistening between her folds reaches a whole new level now. The thumb still rubbing on her clit, she inserts not one, but two fingers into her wet heat. ‘Yesss!’ she moans, her hips lifting from the mattress. 

His movements were frantic now, and when Hermione arches her back, her beautiful curls fanning over the sheets, and her eyes close in bliss, Draco knew he’d spill his load soon. She spreads her legs a bit further apart and pumps her fingers very fast now. When she inserts a third finger, he falls over the precipice.

He came with a loud groan and her name on his lips, his seed coating his hand in long, powerful shots of the milky liquid. The blood pounding in his ears, and his breathing still excited, Draco slowly came back to reality. He almost laughed at the absurdity of his Quidditch themed wank when he heard someone rummaging through the bedroom. By the sounds of it, it was Hermione.

“Draco? Did you say something? I heard you calling my name!” she spoke from the other side of the bathroom door.

Damnit.

He improvised, “I just wanted to know if it was you. Or maybe one of the other pretty witches I keep around.”

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with the bookworm!” she said between chuckled “So play nice with me.” He felt half-tempted to reply cheekily, ‘Just finished! You’ve definitely made it to my team!’ but he liked his balls where they were. 

*()*()*()*()*

His father was a prick. Now, that was not exactly an epiphany for Lucius Malfoy’s son. They always had a complicated relationship, even before Draco had to pay for his father’s sins, be it by taking the Dark Mark or restoring the family reputation. Lucius had always more egocentric than the rest of the elite and behaved as such. All the while, he never openly showed his affection to his heir, which led to Draco asking himself if his father loved him at all. Nevertheless, he had always strived to make him proud, and that had landed him in very dark places.

When the War had destroyed Lucius’ twisted system of beliefs thoroughly, and he had spent two years in Azkaban to contemplate his actions, he resembled more and more the man Draco had wished for as a role model. Of course, he loved his father, but there were still many traits in him he detested. For example, he still pursued the pureblood customs to a T, just without endangering the muggleborns of Great Britain.

However, what the younger Malfoy always admired (and copied) in Lucius was the natural talent to charm witches in a way that came close to an unholy alliance of the Imperius and a knicker vanishing spell. His father’s tactic was simple, but oh so effective: he came, smirked, and got what he wanted before returning to his wife.

The problem was that he currently tested the tactic on Hermione, or, to be precise, Ophelia; the Quidditch game between England and Germany had just started, and Lucius explained the basics to the brunette, not without leaning so close to her that he brushed her shoulders or knees every time he moved. And, apparently, Hermione fell for it like a moth for the light. Her cheeks wore a pretty pink, and she smiled back every time Lucius provided her with an ‘interesting’ fact.

Draco, seated on the woman’s other side, had the pleasure to talk to his grandfather - which wasn’t a real problem - and a person he had never met in person before: Sirius Black. The teenage boy had been dragged along because Druella wanted him in some proper, male company instead of the scum he usually sided with.

It was difficult to imagine this lanky teenager as the Azkaban prisoner he had seen in photos. Draco never understood how everybody believed the man that had been blasted from the family tree for his friendship with James Potter had suddenly sided with Tom Riddle and his gang.

Though, without a doubt, the Black family had a history of thinly veiled mental imbalance. Hopefully, he hadn’t inherited that. Though, the Auror wasn’t sure if his unusual feelings towards Hermione Granger qualified as sane. Again, that had nothing to do with her blood status, and all with her overall Granger-ness, the way she played with her hair when concentrating, the way her eyes caught fire when she was onto something, the way her bosom showed when she folded her arms in a gesture of absolute lecture...   
“Grant scores for England! He left the German keeper, Hans Wurst, utterly oblivious with his lightning fast new broom!” the stadium speaker David Jordan screamed his comments into his microphone.

“As it should be. I didn’t sponsor the new Corona models for nothing,” Abraxas commented drily into Draco’s direction. “We’ve been a huge benefactor for the English team in the past decades.” 

“That’s very generous of you, Mister Malfoy. How much have you invested in the previous year?”

“Mister Langdon, Malfoys don’t talk about their investments in the public.” Draco almost felt chastised by his grandfather’s amused stare. “We prefer to stay in the background and simply enjoy the outcomes. Lucius, on the other side, has slightly more inclination towards the spotlight.”

The wizard in question turned his head away from what must have been a truly engaging conversation with the Gryffindor princess (not that he knew this amusing fact) and leaned over her lap to address his father while the commentator screamed at the top of his lungs, “Götze and Fischer close in on Malley, Kuzorra flies headlong towards our poor Chaser, darn, the Germans pull a Parkin’s Pincer…” the Malfoys and their company observed how the Quaffle was transferred into the hands of a black-red-gold clad man, “Götze throws… and he makes it! 50:50 for the guests!”

“It was a good decision to buy those brooms. But it seems Malley has to fight hard to get his family revenge against a German team.” Lucius turned to Hermione again and explained, “You see, Ophelia, Malley’s mother was Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies when they were defeated by the Heidelberg Harriers in 1952.” The wizard casually rearranged Hermione’s curls on her shoulder, lightly touching her skin in the process.

Draco was on the verge of punching his father and tried to explain his protective urges with the fact that he had been assigned to her case as an Auror. He breathed deeply and calmly spoke, “1954.”

“”Pardon?” Lucius’ grey eyes focused on him now.

Draco explained, “The Heidelberg Harriers defeated the Harpies in 1954, not 1952.”

“You’re both wrong,” the witch in their middle interfered with amusement in her voice. “It was in 1953. And it wasn’t a real surprise, because, as the Irish Captain Darren O’Hare said once, the Harriers are ‘fiercer than a dragon and twice as clever’.”

While Lucius had to overcome the new sensation of being corrected by Hermione Granger, Draco had many years of practice in it and whispered, in mock desperation, “Hey, you say dragon’s aren’t clever?”

Hermione smiled at him, and, for a moment, he forgot that they had some illicit company. “No, I wouldn’t dare. I just began to notice some are smarter than I gave them credit for.”

Caught up in her brown eyes for a moment, Draco was pulled back to reality by the increasing volume of the crowd around him.

“Has Smythe seen the Snitch? He speeds up into the direction of the outer line. Oh no, what’s that? The German team begins to panic and sends a Bludger into Smythe’s way. Merlin, this looks like a very serious Bumphing!”

The next things happened in a very short succession: the people in the Malfoy booth faintly noticed that the stray Bludger headed in their direction with full speed with no player in between. Draco and Lucius both reacted on instinct and pulled Hermione down.The witch gave an uncharacteristic squeak, because unfortunately, being manhandled from two wizards at the same time led to the three of them toppling over ungracefully.

Even with the distraction of Hermione in his arms and his father’s limbs entangled with hers, Draco registred a familiar form some rows above them. It was the man that had followed them in the streets of London. and he stared right back at him, more curious than threatening. Shite.

Now they had even one more problem to solve: Why were they followed by an unknown person who had now proven to be a wizard?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry that I haven't been able to answer your reviews, but I've been out of order the last couple of days. Though, be assured, I adore every single one of them, thank you!
> 
> Beta love to MrBenzedrine89, who not only is the bestest beta EVER, but can also cope with my rambling and strokes my writer's ego when I desperately need it. *shoves cinnamon roles in her direction*

Hermione, distracted by the way Lucius casually twirled her hair around his finger, didn’t see the stray bludger that almost hit them. But suddenly she found herself in a very uncomfortable situation: tangled up in a heap of arms and legs, she was caught between Draco and Lucius on the floor with her, basically, sitting in Draco’s lap and Lucius’ arms slung around her waist.

Essentially, Hermione was in a delicious Malfoy-sandwich. Merlin and Morgana, 97% of the Witch Weekly readers would need a new pair of knickers in her place. And really, Lucius was an attractive wizard (attractive and proper were different things!), both in 1975 and their own time, but…it was Draco’s presence behind her that had her heart beating faster. Both men helped her up, and while Draco checked her out - for injuries! - Lucius’ hand rested on her forearm right above her fading, now glamoured, scar, and she willed herself not to flinch. That would do nothing to the cause.

After an automatic apology for throwing her on the ground, the young wizards glared at each other. Abraxas, much wiser by years and fast on the uptake, gave an aggravated sigh and gestured for Hermione to switch places with him. This landed Abraxas between the two platinum blond (if not visibly so) testosterone bombs and her next to Sirius.

As if nothing had happened, the Malfoy patriarch engaged his progeny in a conversation about the Malfoy’s international investments. Personally, Hermione was glad to shake off her confused feelings in order to concentrate on her professional goal. Then again, she wasn’t so sure anymore if anything that happened to her was straightly professional at the moment.

Teenager Sirius cleared his voice to gain her attention, “So, Ophelia, you haven’t been to Hogwarts, right? Because I surely would remember you.” It took the witch everything to keep a straight face. What a lame attempt at a pick-up line. Though, the daring move to address her by her first name was almost smooth. 

“No, I haven’t, Mister Black.” she said politely. “Is it an interesting place to go?” 

“When you have friends like mine, it’s a never ending adventure,” he intoned enthusiastically, and the flirty teenager turned into a boy again. 

 

“Good friends are hard to come by.” She didn’t have to feign this statement, because Harry and Ron were still her rocks. “Are they in the same house as you are?”

“Yes, we’re all Gryffindors, so I’m a proud lion among a family of snakes - uhm, Slytherins. We’re a pretty tight group of four that make a fabulous team, even if our teachers may say otherwise.” It would be so easy to warn him. About Pettigrew, about Voldemort, about the veil. She felt more tempted to interfere than with Bellatrix, just because it wasn’t in her nature to kill someone and helping was. 

But gambling with the timeline was the most dangerous thing. The borders between what could be and what would be were thin; time was sometimes a liquid that streamed every possible way, and sometimes a solid chain you were bound to. Reminding herself of that, Hermione concentrated on safer topics, “I heard Minerva McGonagall teaches there; she’s a fabulous witch.” 

“She’s amazing. But don’t tell her I said it, that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?” the dark haired teenager that would later become Harry’s (late) godfather admitted, slightly blushing.

Hermione laughed, “I promise.” She definitely intended to break that promise if - no, when they came home, knowing Minerva would be happy about it. She easily lied to a person - maybe the sheer Slytherin-ness of Draco was sinking into her?

Sirius continued his praise on the Transfiguration professor. “She’s impressive with her magic, really, and she’s an animagus.” 

“Oh, really?” the brunette faked ignorance, “Let me guess: an owl?” 

“That would be too obvious! No, a proud, though common, grey cat.” 

“There’s nothing common about cats!” Hermione retaliated, “Mine is the a very loyal companion with a very special character!” Which had accidentally landed her and her grumpily conversing partner in 1975. But she couldn’t tell him that. 

“I’m more of a dog than a cat person.” Sirius tilted his head in a fashion that reminded her of Padfoot. “Though, I don’t say no if a pussy wants to cuddle.” 

Hermione blinked, taking in the winking teenage boy. And then she started laughing. So long and heartily in fact that she had no idea who won the match. Probably Germany, if the faces of the Malfoys - all of them - were any indication.

*()*()*()*()*()*

Back to the Leaky, Draco immediately set up upscale wards. Hermione couldn’t deny that some of them were very advanced and would be way out of a common Auror’s reach.

“Why are you doing this?” she inquired.

“We’ve been followed again. It was just a hunch back in muggle London, but I saw the same guy again today in the Quidditch stadium.” He casually vanished the Glamours and looked at her accusingly.

“Bugger,” Hermione cursed, only to see a smirk developing on Draco’s face.

“All the creative curse words and you go for ‘bugger’?”

“Yes, because it bugs me that I have to be twice as attentive in Knockturn Alley when I buy the rest of the potion supplies,” she explained rationally. 

Draco’s reaction was to glare at her, unbelieving. “You’ve been to Knockturn?”

“I told you I had to go shopping for some basic ingredients for the time solution.” After years of practice, she knew the tell-tale signs of Draco Malfoy’s outrage; his jaw clenched (horrible for the molars!); he straightened his shoulders, and his eyes tried to shoot daggers at her. 

“I thought you bought Black Beetle eyes or something in Diagon Alley! And either you Obliviated the memory from my mind or you deliberately held this little detail back!” The grey of his irises always gained such an alluring sparkle, and she noticed her stomach dropped at the sight. That’s why she decided to poke the snake again. “Don’t you think I could handle such a situation?” 

The spark became a fire. Did he look that passionate when he made out with women? “Don’t play that card with me, Hermione. I know exactly how capable you are. But I was assigned to you for a reason. You tend to ignore the danger around you when you’re on a mission. And, if you want to hear it or not, I was trained for such situations. We don’t simply run into situations with our wands ablazing, we survey, we observe, we follow from the distance before we hit our target.” 

This responsible side of him rarely surfaced this strongly and sobered Hermione up. She was a headstrong, rational person, after all. Mostly. Then again, she was too stubborn to concede and decided to change the topic instead. “What’s your father’s favourite dessert?” 

The blond blinked for a second, but immediately quipped, “You dipped in chocolate, apparently, should I guess after today. What kind of question is that?” Maybe it was a way of wishful thinking she wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet, but there was definitely a jealous undertone in his words.

To answer his question, Hermione fished something from the apothecary’s bag and showed it to Draco. “Flunitrazepan, a narcotic, on the European market since 1975. It works over oral application, hits 15 to 20 minutes after consummation, and lasts at least four hours, so I have to add a bit of magic to shorten the span. But I thought it could be useful on some occasion. I mean, we have to get into the vaults, which are most presumably only accessible with a password. And your father would be the easiest victim.”

A faint nod suggested Draco could follow her train of thought, but the smart wizard didn’t stop thinking there. “You simply walk into the apothecary and get drugs - legally?” 

“No, it’s not that easy.” Hermione admitted, “I told them I am a doctor from a hospital nearby and we had fallen short of the medicine. With a magically tweaked document I got what I wanted.” 

“How do you know so much about these...narcotics, drugs, and stuff?” Draco tilted his head and scrutinized her. “I mean, this isn’t some common knowledge in the muggle world, right?” 

“I have a life outside of magic, should you have forgotten?” Hermione hesitated, realising where this conversation was getting at.

”Just because we haven’t updated our biographies fully yet - what did you do after graduation?” The expression in Draco’s face turned professional, and she knew he had switched into Auror mode.

But she could be as stubborn as he was. “I lived with my grandparents.” 

“Why? You could have lived with Potter in that doxy-filled place of his.” Provocation was more efficient with a personal note, or so the Auror manual Hermione had whipped into Harry’s head, stated.

“Grimmauld place isn’t that shabby anymore, and you know that! Just incredibly stuffed with toy brooms, lego bricks, and plush hippogriffs. I may tend to get a bit over excited when I buy toys, but James and Albus - ” 

“Don’t change the subject!” he admonished. Hermione sighed and plopped down on the bed. Maybe he deserved her trust; they shared a timeline and a bed, after all.

“I wanted to be closer to my family and moved in with my grandparents into the house where we’d landed, actually.” She waved him off when his face showed hints of unease, “I know Harry probably has told you that you shouldn’t ask about my parents, but since I’ve been much closer to your family than I’d like, you deserve something in return.”

With another heavy sigh, Hermione began to tell the story she so rarely shared. “My parents were Obliviated by me in the summer before our seventh year, before Harry, Ron, and I went horcrux hunting. It seemed the perfect idea, and I would still do it again. I sent them to Australia, and that’s where they lived in comfortable ignorance until I restored their memories shortly after the final battle. They reacted… not in the way I had expected. Of course, I expected them to be angry and maybe disappointed, but they were downright furious. Maybe the memory spell has meddled with their brain chemistry in aspects I hadn’t calculated…” she trailed off, still searching for a rational explanation, but, again, came up with nothing. 

After an encouraging noise somewhere between a hum and a huff from Malfoy, who had positioned himself in the chair next to the bed, she continued, “To sum it up, they never really forgave me, and suddenly looked at me and my magic with disdain. I went home, feeling devastated and worthless, and crawled into my grandmother’s lap. I’ve always had a special relationship with my grandparents. They are the only people who never judged me in my family, never tried to change me, and always showed me their deepest support. It was never like this with my parents. I loved them and respected them, of course, but at times, I felt…like an intruder into a perfect life when I was at home, talking about boggarts and brooms. Like I didn’t belong or maybe didn’t fit in. My grandparents loved me. Period.” Hermione swallowed the sad tears that threatened to spill. Even if it had been three years since her grandfather died and 18 months since her grandmother’s death, it still hurt. “I haven’t talked to my parents since I Ieft Australia for England again. Not a Christmas card or a birthday wish. Nothing,” she concluded.

Draco’s voice was calm, almost soft, when he asked, “What did you do in the muggle world? I mean, you’re not exactly a person that survives without soaking up random knowledge for too long.” His usually so prominent and biting sarcasm had ran itself out.

“My grandfather was a Professor at UCL and helped me to get into the medical faculty. I didn’t exactly have papers that documented my education. I enrolled and studied medicine, became a doctor, a Healer, if you will. I graduated-” 

“- At the top of your class, I imagine,” Draco smirked, and Hermione appreciated his good-natured teasing. 

“I worked in a hospital for a year before my grandparents urged me to back to the magical world, because I missed it so much. They said I needed time to heal, and now it was time to show them, once and again, what a muggleborn could do.”

“And Merlin, that you did.”

Hermione blushed at Draco’s heartfelt statement and met his eyes. He must have wanted to add something, for he opened his mouth - but then an owl pecked against the window, and the moment was over.

“I hope you are ready for being dipped in chocolate,” Draco announced after he had read the letter attached to the owl’s leg. 

“That depends on who is licking it off, but indulge me.” Hermione shooed all images away that showed the blond man next to her feasting on liquid chocolate from her entire body.

“My father has the same sweet tooth as me. And he has the opportunity to show you on Friday on the Malfoy’s soirée on the benefit of the Hogwarts library, to which we have just been invited.”

 

*()*()*()*()*()*

Hermione usually avoided functions, balls, and galas. But if she had to attend, she occupied herself by bantering with Draco. This time, however, this wasn’t an option, as the soirée in Malfoy Manor couldn’t be compared to those in the Ministry’s hand.

The first part of the evening followed a strict protocol. Draco and Hermione were welcomed by Abraxas and Winifred, and Hermione noticed the appreciating nod of Draco’s grandmother when she analysed ‘Ophelia’s’ dress. The midnight blue gown covered enough to be decent, but still showed enough to make Hermione feel attractive.

After the greeting came speeches and dinner. And even if Hermione was convinced most of the present guests had never read a single book in the Hogwarts library, her consternation was mollified by the exquisite meal. For the first time, she could understand why Draco had been so spoiled when he entered Hogwarts. A while later, it was time to mingle with the other guests, where they had to be careful to stick together and to their story.

Draco’s hand on the small of her back, absentmindedly running circles over the thin fabric that sent shivers through her spine, made it difficult to concentrate, and it didn’t help that he looked good enough to eat in his classic black robes. Hermione was relieved when she finally spotted Lucius among the crowd, exchanging words with the Minister of Magic. 

She pulled Draco behind the next marble pillar and cast a discreet Muffliato. “You’re absolutely certain that your parents aren’t together yet, yes?” 

“Yeeees. Why?” he stated, clearly irritated. She merely adjusted the fabric around her cleavage to show much more of it. The movements definitely caught Draco’s attention, for he no longer had his eyes on her face, but on her scooping neckline. 

It was so tempting to tease him; she couldn’t resist. “My eyes are up here, Mister.”

With a deep breath the wizard focused again and asked, “What are you up to? I can’t see how this is helping us to get into the family vault.” 

“Well, as I have to get the narcotic into him somehow, I’m going to feed your father some spiked strawberries. And that should be in a private setting, where he’s both inconspicuous and distracted. Where better to go than into the manor’s dungeons? It’s shady, it’s private… and I so want to see all the pretty trinkets there. For investigative reasons, of course, and some quality time with the current Malfoy heir.” 

Draco shook his head at her in wonder. “You’re a covert Slytherin.” Then, with an undertone she couldn’t identify, he half-joked, “I’m keeping my eyes on you. And don’t sully my bloodline, Granger!” 

Hermione grinned at him with what she hoped was an innocent expression. “If I wanted to sully your precious bloodline, I’d be more inclined to try my luck at the very end of it, don’t you think?” And with a short view of Draco’s pupils dilating, she turned and walked in Lucius’ direction. No better way to push your confidence than leaving a man standing with his mouth agape. What a glorious feeling.

As it turned out, it was almost too easy to get Lucius where she wanted him. A hand on his arm here, a bit of lash-fluttering. Some intelligent quotes and a bit of intellectual banter. She was still surprised how much he hit on her intelligence. Then again, it was the same with Draco - wasn’t it? 

A small comment about Vanishing charms, paired with a well-placed glance at his crotch, and he was putty in her hands, complete with a lusty gleam in his grey irises. 

“Lucius, I’ve heard your family owns some of the wizard-kind’s oldest pensieves. Is there any chance I could have a look at one of those?” Hermione inquired, fully aware that they would be stored somewhere safe - hopefully in the family’s vault.

“Who am I to deny a lady such an insistent urge for knowledge?” Lucius leered and led her from the ballroom, his arm casually slung around her waist. He led her deep into the manor’s intestines - not without pinching her bum on the way - and finally stopped in front of an unspectacular looking door.

Lucius produced his wand and whispered some words, the password, she presumed, then Hermione heard the locks turning beneath the wooden surface. So far, so good.

“After you, Ophelia.” Lucius gestured for her to enter the vault, and she stepped into the vast room.

‘Okay, Hermione, time to play the bad girl,’ the witch encouraged herself, though she couldn't decide what to look around at first: in various shelves and protected under bluish shimmering magical shields lay the most precious possessions of the Malfoys. She identified various items that must have belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, but also ancient Astronomy charts and- “Merlin, is that the first edition of Hogwarts: A History?” Hermione all but shrieked in glee and walked over to her favourite book.

Lucius chuckled and placed both of his hands on her waist from behind her. “Knowledge and power are closely related, kitten, and the Malfoys have a love of both,” he whispered seductively next to her ear, his front warm against her back.

“How about we get to know each other a bit better and indulge in something sweet while we’re at it? I mean, I’m a professional writer, after all.” Hermione slipped from the man’s grip and hoped she presented a coy smile.

“Sure.” Lucius was a fraction irritated, but apparently decided she was trying hard to get. He accio’d a soft green blanket from somewhere in the manor and laid it down on the stone floor, which he heated up with a warming spell. He was an arrogant prat, but he had manners.

The rest was a child’s play for Hermione: she flirted with him and, after a while, declared her longing for something ‘juicy’. She produced a slightly narcotic dipped strawberry from her pocket. Carefully, as not to touch the drug herself, she placed the berry between her lips and beckoned Lucius with a crooked finger to fetch it. Ten minutes (and five strawberries with narrowly escaped kisses) later, the Malfoy man was out like a light, and Hermione only briefly hesitated to soften his fall with a Cushioning charm.

When she opened the door from the inside, a clearly irritated Draco paced in front of it and impatiently snapped at her, “What took you so long?”

“Dammit, I’m a doctor, not a seductress!” Sadly, her Star Trek reference was outright ignored, even if Hermione thought Draco was such a Kirk at times. That called for intense cultural education in the future.

Stepping over his sedated father, Draco inspected the Malfoys’ sacred possessions. “I’m familiar with some of these things here, but not with all of them, so we better hurry to look for the time turner. As I know my grandfather, it’s probably warded by blood wards, so you shouldn’t touch it.”

She forced her voice into an academic mode, “What kind of blood wards?”

A smug smirk befell Draco’s lips, and Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “The kind of wards that would grant you access if you were married to me or carrying my child.”

“Yes, and in the same dream of yours the child would bear a wonderful, strong name, like ‘Scorpius’,” she snorted in laughing in an effort to cover her blush. “Not going to happen in this reality anytime soon.” 

“I’m rather fond of the name ‘Scorpius’...” he muttered while they rummaged through the priceless heirlooms and trinkets. A minute later Hermione exclaimed, “That’s it!”

“You’ve found it?” Draco turned towards her.

“What? No, sorry. I just realized something: the marriage bond or the conception of an heir creates a kind of genetic imprinting. And it shows as this characteristic impossible blond hair on the outside; that also explains why your mother became a blonde, at least partially.” The witch’s mind reeled at the potential research one could put in such a field. The enchantments behind this had to be unbelievably complex, perhaps-

“Hermione, stop thinking. I can practically hear your brain working. Focus on finding the blasted time turner before my father awakes!” Strangely, she didn’t even feel admonished at Draco’s amused words. Still, after an hour of thorough examination, the two time travellers had to admit that the time turner wasn’t in the dungeons.

“We have to look in my grandfather’s study next, though that calls for another plan, I suppose,” the blond Auror stated, his fingers destroying the perfect order of his hair in frustration. “What is my father going to believe what happened, by the way?”

Hermione pulled her wand and magically loosened Lucius’ belt buckle and shimmied the trousers a bit lower. “The narcotic has the comfortable side-effect that it leaves memory lapses. I’m going to make him believe he fainted because he accidentally bumped his head in a thorough snog with me - that plausible?”

Draco’s glance focused in a way on her that made her all tingly before he stepped towards her. “You’re not exactly looking like you’ve just had a wild snog.” He stood mere inches apart from her now, raising his hand to carefully pull some strands from her elegant bun. Her heart galloped at his proximity and almost stopped when he placed his palms on both sides of her face. Gently, he rubbed her cheeks. “They would be flushed after said actions, wouldn’t they?” he whispered huskily, and Hermione gave a slight nod.

“Almost perfect,” he finally declared. 

“Almost?” 

His thumb found her lush bottom lip and traced it.“Your lips…” And then his lips were on hers. Warm and soft, but with pressure. Hermione sighed at the more than welcome contact and relished in the feel of his lips on hers. She felt one of his arms sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him, while the other went to her neck and tilted her head upwards. Boldly, she demanded entrance to his mouth with her tongue, and his lips opened, his own tongue curling around hers, dancing, playing, battling. Her hands had settled on his chest, and she could feel that his heart was beating as erratically as hers.

With a groan from the awakening side-character of the romantic scenery (Lucius) the spell was broken, and Draco pulled away from her. 

“Now you’re looking thoroughly snogged by a Malfoy.” His smirk was a bit wobbly and his eyes glazed, but when he left his family’s vault, Hermione noticed an adorable light-heartedness in his step.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to the fabulous MrBenzedrine89, I'm so proud to call her my friend. She helps me a great deal with...everything!

Hermione’s concentration on Draco was once again interrupted when Lucius gave another strangled groan. She rolled her eyes, because seriously, the little trip hadn’t been that hefty.

“Ophelia?” he asked, cradling his head. “What happened?”

Hermione knelt down next to him and grabbed his wrist to check his vital signs inconspicuously. No need to worry, he was as fit as an erumpet - and equally horny, it seemed, for he took the opportunity of her alleviated position to take an unashamed peek down her dress.

“It seems you bumped your head quite heavily while we were... getting to know each other..” She placed a well-timed glance down to his opened belt. Lucius Malfoy blushed, and Hermione swore to herself that she needed to commit this memory to a pensieve.

“You certainly look like you’ve enjoyed it! My, something like this has never happened to me before, maybe it had something to do with the strange tea Severus brought from Hogwarts today. Something about an herbal infusion he’s been experimenting with as of late.”

Hermione tried hard to contain her laughter; Potions Master - War hero - (maybe) accidental drug dealer, what an amazing life Severus Snape led. Lucius gently brought her hands to his lips and pressed lingering kisses on each knuckle. “I have to apologize, sweet Ophelia; it isn’t a usual Malfoy trait to kiss a beautiful witch and then leave her standing in the dungeons.” How times changed, the witch thought.

Just when the young man lifted his head and cupped her jaw, most probably to kiss her, she turned away. So instead of her lips, the kiss landed on her cheek with a smacking sound. “You’re such a gentleman,” she coughed, “as I’m feeling I’m coming down with a cold.” To soften the ego fall, and to ensure that Draco’s father still ate out of her hands, she gave him her best doe eyes. “Maybe a stroll around the gardens would be in order to refresh your senses?” She stood and gestured him to do the same.

Lucius’ eyes were still a bit unfocused when he did so, but his intentions were clear when he suggested, “That sounds lovely, the gardens are truly enthralling in nights like this. I’d like you to join me, so I can show you.” How many times had the patent Malfoy charm worked? Hermione donned her most convincing smile and laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we’ve spent so much time down here that I’m afraid I have to work the rest of the evening. Maybe another time?” Too polite to outright deny a woman’s request, she could see that Lucius wasn’t used to have his advances neglected. So, it was no wonder that his expression was still a bit unsettled when they arrived in the ballroom again, and he left straight for the opened doors to the gardens.

“He looks terribly disappointed,” Draco commented dryly when he met her next to the bar again. “I take it you decided not to compare our techniques then?” Hermione smiled softly at the hopeful upcurve of his words.

“A lady never kiss and tells.” Just when Draco opened his mouth to reply something to her quip, Winifred stepped into their conversation with a young man in tow.  
“Oh, here you are. I simply must introduce you to someone.”

Hermione took the man’s appearance in, and Draco’s stiffening beside her confirmed her own conclusions; tall, dark tousled hair, bright eyes - this was the man that had been on their heels! On a second thought, the wizard appeared somewhat familiar to her, but that wasn’t possible! Was it?

“Miss Ophelia Croft, Mister Bilius Langdon, this is Mister Calvin Klein. Mister Klein is a very talented photographer.” Automatically, greetings were exchanged, and Hermione could see Draco’s hand falling back on his wand holster. The polite nod of the foreign man tickled something in Hermione’s brain - she knew that movement…

“It is just a suggestion of Abraxas and me, but we thought it very productive that you three could work together to illustrate that book of yours with some high quality pictures,” Winifred stated, making it obvious that it wasn’t a mere suggestion but a shove into the direction where she wanted them. 

Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity off and decided to test the waters. “Have we ever met, Mister Klein?” The wizard smiled, and Draco seemed ready to strike, public be damned. “Probably, I’m best friends with a famous researcher, Emmett Brown.” The clogs turned in Hermione’s head. “And together with Mister McFly, we make a fabulous trio that have been to Hell and back.”

Internally, the witch squealed in joy, but still tried one further question to prove her theory. “You worked on this DeLorean project some years ago, right?”

Another nod, and she could almost feel Draco growl in warning. “It almost killed us.”

“Oh, it seems you’re getting along quite well. I’m going to leave you young people to your work, yes?” Winifred voiced and went off to another group of people. As soon as she wasn’t in earshot anymore, Hermione urgently tugged at Draco’s sleeve.

“We have to go, now, and we have to take him with us!” She gestured to the still smiling man.

“Are you insane? This man followed us - observed us!” Draco whispered sharply.

“Do you trust me?” Hermione retaliated. She didn’t need to wait long for his response: “I do.”

After grabbing Mister Klein’s arm, she spun on her heel and Apparated from the ballroom of Malfoy Manor (whose wards had been lifted for the occasion) to the familiar confines of their room at the Leaky Cauldron. She didn’t have time to say a word to her companion, because Draco reappeared a second behind her, naturally fuming. Not that she had expected otherwise.

“You stubborn, ignorant Gryffindor! What were you thinking? He could be-”

“Finite!” Hermione flicked her wand at the three of them, effectively deleting all Glamours from them.

Draco gasped audibly when reality revealed a raven-haired, bespectacled man with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

“Harry!” Hermione threw herself into her friend’s arms, almost knocking him over in the process.

“Umph! Great to see you, too, Hermione!” 

She kept her arms around Harry, hugging him close and relishing in the familiar feeling. Harry, on the other hand, buried his head in her loosened curls and muttered again and again how glad he was to see her. A loud clearing of throat next to them interrupted their reunion after a while, and the brunette let go reluctantly.

“Head Auror Potter, coming to control my work, I see?” Draco greeted his superior with a firm handshake and a smirk. Then, Hermione’s curiosity took over full force, and she bombarded Harry with her most burning questions: “How did it happen? Which object anchored you? How long are you already here? I presume that you were also showered with the time solution, but-”

“Hermione, breathe. And maybe give me a moment to answer, yes?” The witch in question nodded impatiently. She wanted answers, for Morgana’s sake! But instead, Harry pulled something from his trousers.

“This pocket watch was the first present my mother made my father; it’s one of the few personal possessions I have from my parents.” He opened the (admittedly not very beautiful, nor pricey) watch to show the inscription to Draco and Hermione.

To James. In Love, Lily ~ Valentine’s Day 1975

“Awwww, that’s so sweet!” Hermione gushed and glared at Draco’s scoff. “What? I have a romantic streak, in contrast to other present persons.” She spoke to Harry again, “This was the object that anchored you to a certain time. This means you’ve been here since February?” 

Harry nodded and continued, “I’ve managed to get myself a job as a photographer, a recently discovered hobby of mine, and, over time, spun contacts to the wizarding world. Apparently, I’m doing a fine job in photography.”

“You should think about doing that full time, Potter, because you haven’t been very good at stalking us. Or was it simply too much desk work in the last few months, eh?” What would have been the opening line to a duel back at Hogwarts was now good natured teasing from Draco.

“I can’t say you were difficult for me to find, either, at least not if one knows what to look for. And, given the rumors about the Malfoys and the time turner-” Hary paused when Hermione took a sharp intake of breath here, “-Yes, I have my sources, little ‘Mione. Anyways, I figured you’d go and try to get close to them.” Harry’s boyish-triumphant grin was interrupted by Hermione smacking him over the head for using the hated nickname of hers.

Finally, the new player in the time turning game took in his surroundings: Draco’s neatly folded shirt on the stool next to the bed, Hermione’s long hairs in the brush next to the vanity mirror; one mattress to bed them all.

“So, you’re living together?” he formulated hesitatingly.

Hermione wondered about his inquisitive voice. “Is that a problem, Harry?” 

Draco, on the other side, jumped to conclusions like a Gryffindor. “We’re both adults, and it’s not like we’ve been sued for being too loud at shagging or something.” It didn’t help the sceptical twinkle in Harry’s eyes when she laid a calming hand on the blond’s arm.

“Snap out of it, Malfoy. I didn’t want to imply anything. I’m just wondering why you haven’t killed each other yet!” Nonetheless, her friend had learned to handle the dragon with sarcasm, for Draco smirked now.

“Why should I kill the one person that can keep up with me?”

Hermione blew in the same horn and said, “I’ve given up destroying pureblood lines years ago!” 

When all chuckled at their respective bantering, Hermione thought that they had come so amazingly far in the past years. 

*()*()*()*()*()*

Seemingly, Hermione had been a bit distracted by Harry’s arrival and therefore forgot to erect the reliable pillow barrier between her and Draco after her friend had left.

In consequence, she woke up in a position she had so often acquired when she still shared a bed with Ron: snuggled against his back, the arms around his waist and her nose resting next to his spine. The latter guaranteed a full dose of Draco-scent - and she loved it. It felt right to wake up like this, warm, comfortable, and safe; and it had been the best sleep in months.

Then it came all crushing down on her: this wasn’t their reality, this wasn’t where they belonged. And, most certainly, she didn’t belong into the same bed as the Malfoy heir in such an intimate position. Carefully, she decided to uncurl herself and started by retracting her arm.

A hand grabbed her wrist. “Tactical retreat after breaking through the barrier?” Draco’s voice was deep and husky from sleep, but he had undoubtedly been awake for a few minutes.

“Well, it wouldn’t be very professional to cuddle my colleague, would it?” She gave a lame attempt at an explanation.

Draco snorted and retaliated, “Screw professional. We’ve been catapulted into another timeline; a bit of physical contact won’t kill us.” Now that was something that Hermione wanted to tell Draco’s prissy teenage self. “Besides, I’m used to it. Astoria did basically the same.” Giving up, the brunette kept her position, her body pressed against his over the full length, and, somehow, it felt more intimate than the kiss they had shared the day before.

“So, you’re just friends now? You and Astoria, I mean?” Hell knew why she posed that question.

“Yes. And we’re fine that way.” 

“Friends with benefits?” She mentally slapped herself for her curiosity, but Draco gave a low chuckle that she felt rumbling beneath her hand.

“You have a naughty mind, Gryffindor Princess! A bit under-shagged, are we?” he teased.

“Takes one to know one, Slytherin Sex God!” In a rare moment, her playfulness overruled all rational thought of how much of a bad idea this all was, and she let her fingers trail over the sensitive places between his hip bone and his ribs. She was rewarded with a grunt. Hermione repeated her action, and this time, Draco squirmed. “Are you ticklish, Malfoy?” In a bold move, she moved her fingers towards his belly and tickled there. Draco couldn’t answer her question, because he was occupied by suppressing his laughter.

Once he regained his breathing, he pulled her over him effortlessly, and she would have admired his strength - but she was too busy being tickled mercilessly. The following tickling fight that ensued between Gryffindor and Slytherin had them rolling over the bed, over and under each other. Hermione liked Draco’s unrestricted laughter and how he had no qualms to tackle her. 

Some minutes later, she found herself in such a situation: after an unfair move that involved attacking the sensible flesh at the back of her knee, he had her pinned on her back, her wrists held by one of his hands over her head, and him resting comfortably between her legs.

Suddenly, their laughter stopped, and all Hermione could hear was the sound of their ragged breathing. Their eyes locked, and she felt heat coiling between her legs, caused by his intense stare and his weight settling against her. For a second, she believed he might close the distance, and they would kiss again. Damn, she wanted to lift her head and initiate a kiss herself, but something flickered in his gaze, and he muttered, “We’re late for breakfast.” It was then that the witch remembered that they planned to meet Harry downstairs.

“You know what Harry is going to believe when we show up like this? All flushed and frizzled?” 

“I don’t see why this is unusual for you.” Draco playfully tugged on one of her brown curls and still hadn’t moved. “Or are you ashamed of me, princess?” he added with a smile, which made the heat below her navel more prominent.

“More of Harry. He can be a bit...overprotective of me at times. Quite annoying, actually,” she explained.

The wizard snorted. “As if you need protection. You can hold your ground against every wizard I know.” 

“Yourself included?” 

Draco released the grip on her wrists. “Is that a challenge, Hermione?” 

“Maybe.” With a grin, she slipped out from under him, and in doing so, accidentally rubbed against something very hard with her hip, causing him to hiss.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning his midsection away while she came to stand next to the bed. 

She blushed a bit and offered a perfectly rational explanation. “No need to be sorry. Nocturnal penile tumescence is a perfectly natural occurrence for a man in your age, although the theories to explain it range from norepinephrine decrease to a full bladder stimulating the nerves.” 

“What happened to being happy about waking up next to a pretty witch?”Draco asked, now less ashamed and more flirty.

Then Hermione leaned down and gave him a soft peck on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. “Either way, it shows that not even the Malfoys are above the laws of nature.”

When they entered the main room of the pub some time later, a glamoured Hermione saw Harry lowering his Daily Prophet upon their entry. His own Glamour couldn’t hide the ‘Young lady, we have to talk’-glance he threw at her after taking in their indeed flushed appearance.

Amused, she shot him a ‘We don’t, there’s nothing we have to talk about!’-glare back as a reply. Hermione was so glad she could hold such non-verbal discussions with Harry, that made some things much easier. With Ron…it was like communicating with a blank parchment at times, even when they had been in a relationship. Draco had noticed the nonverbal exchange with a smirk, and she whispered, “Told you so!”

After greeting each other and getting their breakfast on the table in front of them, Harry and Draco looked expectantly at Hermione. Was she this predictable? Yes, when it came to planning and scheming, she probably was.

The witch started to clarify what she had come up with so far. “So, I’ve been thinking…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge THANKS to my lovely beta and friend, MrBenzedrine89 - she is my voice of reason when I'm ranting. *hugs and kisses*

Draco had made a poor exchange concerning his partner: instead of a witty brunette, he was now partnered with a world saviour in disguise, because Hermione had decided she needed to work on the time solution undisturbed. Sadly, Harry Potter wasn’t half as charming as his best friend. As a result, the blond’s mood wasn’t particularly shiny - and then his superior felt the need to hold small-talk.

“Have you memorized the spell?” Harry asked.

“Of course. It’s a modified Revelio. Not that difficult.” Hermione had altered the Revelio charm to reveal one of the ingredients of the time solution. Astonishingly, hummingbird feathers, plucked on a Beltane night, was the rare ingredient in question. And as it was a substance that, unlike acromantula venom or unicorn hair, it wouldn’t be suspected in a regular wizarding study and was the one thing they had to scan Abraxas’ room for. 

Harry now praised Draco’s bedfellow. “I’ve been friends with her for so long, and it still astounds me how effortlessly her brain works.”

“Yes, she’s impressive-” Draco noticed the soft tone of his voice and quickly added, ”when she isn’t annoying as Hell.” Crap, Potter tried to trick him into admitting things he barely could admit to himself!

“Soooooo, you haven’t killed each other yet.” The Head Auror shuffled his shoes over the white gravel that led up to Malfoy Manor, which would undoubtedly ruin them sooner or later - not that they had any stylish worth to begin with.

Draco consciously laced his voice with pureblood arrogance (something he was an expert in). “Firstly, one doesn’t start a sentence with ‘soooo’. It’s common and inelegant, especially when, secondly, something blatantly obvious and repetitive follows.” 

“Hermione sometimes starts sentences with ‘so’. Does this make her common and inelegant, too?”

The blond wizard rolled his eyes. “That’s the difference between you and her: what Hermione says is usually either intelligent or at least amusing.” 

“You called her Hermione…” And the trap had fallen shut. 

“Yes, that’s my new nickname for her, since mudblood has grown a bit old and bitter.” Draco just hoped they arrived the manor’s front door before he said something he’d rather keep between Hermione and him for now. If there was something at all. 

Harry was like a bloodhound on a trail. “I notice you staring at her, you know.”

“If that disturbs you so much, I can resolve to ignoring her. And we both know that ignoring this witch doesn’t work,” he quipped.

“That’s not what I meant. You look at her as if you...I don’t know. As if you want her for dessert.” 

Now that Draco could not deny anymore. Perhaps it was him who wanted her dipped in chocolate, not his father. Or rather, showered in champagne? Or both? Draco mentally slapped himself to stop his mind from running away with Granger-fantasies again. 

Thankfully, he was spared of giving the other man a reply, for the heavy doors of his childhood home opened, and Abraxas appeared in the doorway. Tall and straight, his grandfather greeted them friendly and discussed their plans with them. They took some photos in the dining room and the library with all three (obvious) Malfoys, just for show. Harry arranged them in different poses: sometimes it was the classical lady of the house surrounded by husband and son arrangement. Sometimes he varied the typical scenes a bit: for example he had them play a scene in front of the family tree with Abraxas tracing it from the beginning to where Draco one day would appear.

Draco had to admit, Harry was talented as a photographer. He had an eye for details and natural light, as well as human movements. For instance, ‘Mister Klein’ pointed out that Lucius tended to turn his nose up, and that could make him appear arrogant in the photos - Draco suppressed a chuckle at this, because his father would always have an air of arrogance on him, even if one put him into an old-fashioned swimming suit and donned him a fake moustache.

“Almost finished. For the final shots, I’d like to arrange Mister Malfoy senior in his private study,” Harry declared after what felt like an eternity.

“My study isn’t that exciting, Mister Klein. Why do you want to go there?”

Draco brought forth, “We thought the centre of power for the Malfoy family would be worth showing in the book. It’s where you reign the family business from, after all.”

Abraxas chuckled, and Draco immediately felt set back in a time before the war, when he was still small and his grandfather gave him lectures about the family. “You are too young to understand, just like Lucius.” He placed a hand on Winifred’s cheek lovingly. “It’s not the business and the money alone which make the Malfoys so successful. It’s the loyalty and trust we hold each other and our legacy with.” A shiver ran down Draco’s spine at these words. Lucius had done exactly the opposite, after all; and it was Draco’s responsibility to correct it. “But I’m going to indulge you two. Still, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed; it’s only my workplace.”

After the speech about the worth of family, Draco began to suspect that they wouldn’t find the time turner in Abraxas’ room. And as it turned out, his suspicions were correct. While Harry gave precise directions of how the Malfoy patriarch had to sit and how he had to hold his hands and feet, Draco, pretending to study the books in the shelves behind Abraxas’ back, whispered, “Trochilidapteryx Revelio.” His wand gave a soft purple glow to show the charm had worked - a control mechanism Hermione had insisted on embedding - but it didn’t turn silver. That would have been the sign the hummingbird feathers had been found.

He signalled the Head Auror with a slight shake of his head; the charm hadn’t revealed anything.

 

*()*()*()*()*()*

“Are you sure you performed it right?” Hermione asked the moment they came back and the disappointment on their faces became imminent.

“Don’t you dare question my performance!” Draco snarled and immediately wanted to take those words back, feeling more than slightly out-of-character for doing so. That frustrated him even more, and he wanted to kick or punch something as an outlet, or maybe fly a round on his new broom.

Usually, people either shrunk back (most people) or exploded (Granger people) as a reaction to his behaviour, but Hermione did neither this time. Instead, she blushed the tiniest bit and gave a seductive smile that would have had him dropping his (suddenly tight) pants if it weren’t for her sidekick. “Oh, to question your performance, I have to see you perform firsthand.”

Draco blinked, the witch’s playfulness successfully pushing him from his brooding mood - and cockfirst into his Quidditch fantasy. 

Seemingly, his boss had noticed the change of atmosphere.“Okay, before we have to have a talk about where little witches and wizards come from, I suggest we discuss the status quo,” Harry stepped in, slightly tense upon looking at his best friend.

“The time turner, obviously, is neither in the family vault nor in Abraxas’ study,” Hermione concluded, instantly switching back to a professional attitude and, once again, showing compartmentalizing skills like a real Slytherin. Draco would have preferred a cold shower right then. Or a hot one.

“Do you have any idea where else he could keep it hidden?” the witch carried on, and the blond wizard sighed heavily.

“Not that I know of at the moment. But it’s definitely in the manor; Grandfather wouldn’t have it too far away from his person. I have to think about this for a while.” Harry and Hermione nodded in acquiescence, and, for once, Draco was thankful for the trusting nature of most Gryffindors. 

“How’s the brewing going?” the other wizard wanted to know, and the woman’s face changed again, this time from contemplative to pleased.

“Good, actually. Aside from the shell, there’s only one ingredient missing. Sadly, the hummingbird feathers were destroyed during the first stages of modifying the Revelio charm. This means I’m going to purchase some more tomorrow.”

Her best friend might have been deceived by her casual tone and her big brown eyes which twinkled so innocently, but Draco picked up a cover-up tactic, as he himself was an expert in lying by saying the truth. “You’re not going alone to Knockturn Alley again,” he commanded, and Harry turned his head towards her, surprised.

“It’s the only place to get it.”

“You. Are. Not. Going. Alone.” Draco laced his voice with a certain dominance - even if he knew nobody really dominated Hermione Granger. Instead, he saw her shiver slightly and her irises darkened even more, looking like burning ember now. Fuck, was she aroused? Maybe she enjoyed a bit of consensual and safe domination? Draco mentally chastised himself. He had to stop this before he lost control and had his wicked way with her, and the Chosen One was the one chosen to watch the magic happen.

“It isn’t an argument anymore that someone is following us! And you told me I could hold my ground against any wizard!” The little nymph was trying to use his own words against him. Not going to happen.

“And I still say so. But what if they corner you with five people, or stun you, or the Glamour is lifted? Or if they hex you into the back and you hit your head? You simply shouldn’t go alone.” 

Not so surprisingly, Harry agreed on this point with him. “Look, I hate to say it aloud, but Malfoy is right. And I have to work on these photos, so Malfoy is the logical choice to accompany you.” 

“You pick this moment to agree with me on something?” Draco smirked. “It would have spared us a lot of trouble had this happened in sixth year.” 

“You two stubborn, ignorant-” Hermione started, but Harry merely chuckled in Draco’s direction. 

“She gets so mean when she realizes someone else is right and she’s out-maneuvered.” Now the raven haired Auror sided openly with him. Hermione’s frustration practically rolled off of her in waves. 

“I know,” came Draco’s reply. “And when she notices she’s also ignored, she-” as if on clue, the witch stomped on the floor once and left the room, not without slamming the door and mumbling something about a large glass of firewhiskey she wanted to drown her frustration and “these two dicks” in. 

*()*()*()*()*()*

“You snore when you’re tipsy, did you know?” Hermione and Draco, the hummingbird feathers resting safely in her bag, were on their way to leave Knockturn Alley when the wizard hinted at the evening before.

“I wasn’t tipsy,” came the firm reply from the witch.

“Oh, but you were after the fourth drink. I mean, you called Marty a ‘chicken’ when he asked if we wanted two separate rooms now.” Draco recalled the events almost fondly. After Harry had disappeared, because, it was always “better to let her cool off, otherwise one could be attacked by a flow of angry canaries or a dragon, if available” - the blond had ignored the advice and gone down to the pub room.

“Oh really? That’s actually…quite funny. See, my brain is able to work properly even under the influence of alcohol.” He had no idea in which universe this was funny. In the Potterverse, probably. Though, it had been amusing to observe her. Despite her friend’s prediction, she hadn’t hexed him, but instead invited him to sit with her. 

She walked some steps before she turned her head and asked, “Uhm...just out of curiosity. What did I answer to Marty’s question?”

Draco grinned. “You said that now that you shoved this delicious cake under your nose you’re going to eat it, too.” Hermione blushed prettily. “The poor guy was a bit disturbed, but I translated for him that you think we won’t need separate rooms, because we’ve kind of gotten used to each other.” He deliberately left out how he had casually slung an arm around her shoulders at these words, and that she had fallen asleep with her head resting in the crook of his neck a bit later. And, of course, he didn’t tell how much he enjoyed her proximity. 

“Thank you - that was very thoughtful of you, Draco. And a bit cute.” Before he could repeat how not-cute he was, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and pointed at something behind him. “Oh shite, there’s Lucius. Quick!” 

Before he could draw his wand from its holster, the brunette had already pulled him against her. Leaning against a half-shadowed wall, Hermione fisted his robes and lowered his face to hers. Without a moment of hesitation, her lips captured his. After a second of shock, in which her tongue traced his upper lip teasingly, he submitted to the sensations and kissed back. Sucking on her tongue lightly, he opened his lips and invaded her mouth, He stepped closer, leaving no space between them, and angled her head up. Soon, their careful exploring turned into a heated snogging, where their tongues and lips met in a playful battle of dominance, chasing and twirling around each other. 

The timeline, his family, the shady alley around them, everything faded into meaningless background play; only the woman in his arms counted: the way her fingers caressed the back of his neck, the way her skin felt when his fingers disappeared under the hem of her blouse, the soft noises she made when he buried the other hand in her curls. Draco moaned into her mouth when she pressed herself against him so her breasts came in contact with his body. His own noise suddenly made him aware of the situation they were in, and before his cock could fully cheer with anticipation, Draco gentled the kissing until it was sweet and soft instead of needy.

“Is my father gone?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers, fully aware of how breathless he sounded.

“He was never there to begin with,” came the equally breathless, but satisfied, answer from Hermione.

“Pardon?” His mind needed some seconds to decipher what she told him. 

“You are not the only one who can steal a kiss with an excuse,” she clarified, her entire demeanor smug. 

Draco groaned. “In the dungeons, that was all for the cause.” He paused. “And maybe 30% for selfish reasons,” he admitted a bit sheepishly.

“Well, this was entirely for selfish reasons!” Hermione laughed, and his smirk reappeared.

“I swear, you must have bribed the Sorting Hat not to put you into Slytherin.” 

They spend the rest of the day reading and brewing, occasionally interrupted by a snog. Did they put in words that their relationship had shifted and was heading into unknown directions? No. But even Hermione knew that some things were too obvious to talk about them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working too many hours. Didn't have time to write. Sorry for leaving reviews unanswered and delay in posting.
> 
> THANK YOU for all the lovely reviews!
> 
> And a big shout-out to MrBenzedrine89! She has an equally busy schedule, but always finds time for me, the amazing woman!
> 
> A bit of smut in this chapter!

Hermione straightened her back, slipping into the role of a socially upcoming author, and knocked at the door of Black Manor in the middle of the idyllic English countryside.

It was still a riddle to her why she was even there, but one didn't turn down Narcissa Black’s invitation, including a portkey, for tea. As a precaution, she had packed the all around antidote pill she had found in her blouse when they had landed in 1975, one of her most successful inventions. It wasn’t entirely lint-free due to its journey through time, but it would hopefully still do the job if push came to shove and Draco’s mother decided to poison her. Then again, Narcissa was a very intelligent witch and would probably use something with a delayed effect…Just when the brunette started to remodel the pill recipe for such toxics, muggle or otherwise, the massive door revealed - who else could it be? - a dishtowel-clad house elf.

The wiry creature led her to a brightly lit tea room with French windows that opened to the vast gardens. Another pureblood home, another tea room, another garden. But even Hermione acknowledged that the Malfoy home had an iota more grandeur, a modicum more effortless importance than the Black’s. What stayed the same for her, however, was the feeling of not fitting in (not that she wanted to).

The perfectly polished Narcissa welcomed her with a friendly, yet distanced, smile. “I am so glad you could come, Miss Croft. I can’t imagine how tedious it must be to coordinate work and socializing.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Black. This is a beautiful home you have.Though, I admit, I’ve only heard more of Grimmauld Place so far.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. Hermione knew too well that Bellatrix had burned this manor down in the fight with fifteen Aurors that sent her to Azkaban in the end. It wasn’t the prison that had evaporated her sanity; she had been deranged long before.

“Did you honestly think I’d spend more time than absolutely necessary in this meager townhouse?” Narcissa laughed. A pleasant, tingling sound she had never heard from the woman in her time. But the War had been hard on everyone, and Hermione didn’t exactly have Narcissa Malfoy over for tea on Sundays. “You hold yourself with such a poise, I sometimes forget your upbringing,” she declared while pouring Hermione and herself some tea into flowered china porcelain cups. 

Yes, and Hermione sometimes forgot that not all of her schoolmates’ parents were as sweet as Molly Weasley. Narcissa Black might be more open minded, curiouser even, when it came to muggles than her mother and Bellatrix, but she still held fast to the pureblood beliefs. 

“Enough with the pleasantries; I invited you over for a reason.” The sudden glint in the other woman’s eyes meant business, and Hermione involuntary located her wand beneath her skirt. “I don’t usually address matters this bluntly, but experience taught me it’s the fastest and most effective way to solve these issues. And, Merlin, I’ve had enough of them in the past two years.” Her manicured fingers held up the delicate cup, but Hermione wasn’t deceived by the delicate shell she presented to the onlooker. Draco’s mother had always been a formidable witch one shouldn’t underestimate.

“Look, I don’t know what-”

“Listen, and listen well, Miss Croft, for I’m going to tell you the same as I told my dear, envious sister: keep your fingers off of Lucius Malfoy. He is mine to get, even if only he begins to realize that yet.” The brunette’s face must have shown utter surprise, but the upcoming Missus Malfoy hadn’t finished yet and bore her icy blue eyes into her brown ones.

“You’re neither the first young witch to dream of luring Lucius into marriage by accidentally falling pregnant, nor do you have a real chance. But, due to your strategic skills and overall intelligence, you’re probably my strongest adversary.”

‘Nothing between them, my arse.’ Draco’s mother had her eyes firmly on her target - in the form of Draco’s father. Interesting that this had never come up at tea parties in the Malfoy household.

Holding back the urge to giggle, partly because the irony of it all, and partly because she couldn’t wait to tell Draco about this, Hermione cleared her throat and answered, “I appreciate your honesty, Miss Black, but I need to explain something. While I won’t deny I feel charmed by Lucius’ advances, I have no intention to be with him in any form. He’s attractive and smart, but in the end, he’s just a spoiled boy who wants to play the big game.” ‘One he will lose and almost take him, you, and your wonderful son down,’ she wanted to add.

After analysing her openly with a piercing stare as if to assess her honesty, Narcissa’s posture relaxed some seconds later, her lips curling into a grin which showed that Draco was not only the carbon copy of his father, but had also inherited some humour from his mother. “While I don’t appreciate the downplay of his qualities, you made an astute observation concerning Lucius.” 

Hermione almost exhaled loudly. She could hold herself up in a duel against the other witch without a doubt - but imagine all the paperwork if she blew up the timeline in the process!

“A little game of chess, Ophelia?” ‘The worthy adversary can make a powerful friend’ - this motto was rumoured to hang in the Slytherin common room, and Narcissa followed it to the letter. Hermione nodded and reached for her tea cup. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you. It would make the next few days wholly unpleasant, digestion-wise,” came the other witch’s voice casually. Halting her movements mid-air, Hermione smiled to herself, because she had achieved to learn something Tom Riddle needed many years for: never mess with Narcissa Malfoy.

 

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

Two hours later, after an exciting game of chess (Hermione won, again), the curly haired witch was on her way to the nearest restroom. Thankful that she hadn’t endured insults by random Black portraits; she strode along the quiet corridors.

“Geminio!”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks upon hearing the incantation and reached for her wand. Ignoring the voice in her head (which sounded strangely like Draco) to be careful, she ran a Disillusionment charm over herself, combining it with a Muffliato on her feet. Prepared as such, she walked down the hall to investigate the caster of the Gemini spell, though she had a hunch to who it was.

And, as suspected, it was indeed Bellatrix. The witch had various items lined up in front of her in what appeared to be a study, her back to the slightly opened door and to Hermione. It seemed she hadn’t reached her later level of paranoia yet, for the 1998-Bellatrix would never have left her back unprotected. Thank Merlin for small wonders.

“Geminio!” Bellatrix wand swished through the air with a practised movement, directed at a glass filled with red wine. A moment later, the glass had duplicated, albeit empty. Draco’s aunt was indeed experimenting with the Duplication spell just as she had told them that afternoon at Malfoy Manor. Next came wine filled goblets of various materials: silver, stone, gold.

Hermione remained beside the door, and with every duplicated object, a theory began to form in her head. When Bellatrix had spoken the spell over the most expensive goblet, the golden one, the liquid still didn’t appear in the second goblet, and the bowl itself disappeared after roughly thirty seconds in which Bellatrix, too, observed her experiment. 

Hermione found the findings remarkable on two levels: for once, it proved that despite generations of relative coupling, the Blacks were still magically talented. On the other side, the smart witch now knew that the Gemini spell only worked for solid substances, but not for liquids, and the more valuable the material, the shorter the duplication lasted.

‘Fate is a funny thing,’ Hermione pondered while returning to her original plan to visit the bathroom, her brain reeling with ideas and plans. In any possible scenario of how this all could play out, she had never expected it to be Bella-bitch showing them a way to return home.

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

Draco Apparated into their room this evening, and, as soon as he was in the familiar environment, his posture relaxed. Or, more precisely, his body showed its exhaustion immediately. When he leaned down to Hermione reclined on the bed in reading position for a quick kiss, the witch squealed. 

“Go shower, you’re all sweaty!” 

“Excuse me? No ‘I’m so glad you are back! How was your day’?”

“Oh, sorry. How was the hunting with your male family and friends? Successfully roasted some muggles? Am I worthy enough to lick the sweat from your precious pureblood body?” Her mouth was really not correlating with common sense at times. Licking something from his body? He was no ice cream cone! But he would be a delicious one, without a doubt.

“I’d rather take a shower first, even if your offer is oh-so tempting,” he winked at her. “And I told you: the Malfoys gave up the muggle hunt a long time ago, you prejudiced muggleborn,” he teased without malice while he started stripping off his clothes: an outfit that resembled Quidditch gear in the leather details and the way it hugged his body. Hermione observed him, unashamed, because which wizard-loving witch wouldn’t do so? And she had first row tickets to the show at the moment, as it seemed. Who knew how long her VIP pass lasted?

Throwing her another wink, he disappeared into the bathroom, sadly still half-clothed. While she heard the water running, Hermione pondered her next move - would it be too bold? Too uncouth of a decent witch in Draco’s eyes? She snorted at her own thoughts. All those purebloods and their customs, added to Draco’s upbringing, had made her questioning her virtue. Which was nonsense, because the man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth knew her, quirks and all. Strangely, he saw better through her than her closest friends - even if he used that knowledge to push her red buttons forcefully.

All things virtuous were thrown out the window when Draco emerged from the bathroom again in nothing but a towel. Essentially, this was déjà vu: the water droplets running down his chest and abdomen, the perfect round of his shoulders, the strong tendons visible on his lower arms, interrupted by the faint reminders of the Dark Mark. Biting her lip to keep herself from moaning, she reminded herself why this wasn’t a simple repetition of the morning a few days ago: this time, she would act on her desires. That was her plan, at least, until her eyes reached his face, crunched in pain.

“Don’t tell me Mister Slytherin Quidditch Captain is tired after a bit of pony riding!”

He raised his hands in defeat, causing the towel to slide down a fraction on his hips and a bit more of the perfect pervy V to expose. “It’s very different from Quidditch, and I haven’t done it for years. My back aches, my thighs hurt, and my-”

“Stop it, I don’t understand whiney,” she interrupted him and patted on the bed next to her. “Come on, let’s see what I can do about it.”

That this statement wasn’t followed by an innuendo showed that he really was exhausted. The wizard only sent her a breathtaking, honest smile before he stretched out on the mattress. This visual had her heartbeat speeding up even more than the sight of his pert bum, still covered by the towel. When he had found a comfortable position, his arms folding to support his head, Hermione used the opportunity to magically change her sweatpants (which were real sweatpants in the 1970s, mind you) with one of the sexier nightgowns she had purchased at ‘La Coquette’, a short, lavender coloured piece made of silk that felt grandiose on her body.

Straddling his legs, Hermione started working on the tightly wound muscles. What followed was pure, erotic torture for her. She worked her way down his neck and shoulders, kneading his arms down to the fingers, gently prying them from under his head. He sighed and groaned when she pressed her fingers in his back, and the noises he made were enough to make her embarrassingly wet. The handsome blond was too far gone to be aware of her damp knickers, thankfully. Then again, she wanted him to feel what he did to her, so when she leaned down to let her fingers glide from his lower back to his scalp, her silk covered breasts deliberately rubbed against the naked skin of his back. One eye opened lazily, albeit with unmistaken interest, and he tried to look at her by turning his head. But she wanted him debased. Pressing his body into the mattress, she prohibited any action from him. 

She pressed her thumbs into the muscles directly above his pelvis, knowing fully well that this would stimulate the entire area. With a bit of wandless magic, she vanished his towel, causing him to grunt appreciatively. When her fingers trailed his firm bum, they did so softly, but with enough force as not to tickle him. Damn, he had a delicious behind.

“Turn around now,” she told him, aware that her voice was filled with arousal. Draco sounded no different when he asked, blinking up to her with those quicksilver eyes, “You’re sure? You got me pretty worked up in some areas.” Still, it was sweet he asked.

“That was the idea, Draco.” 

“I imagined so.” He grinned wolfishly and turned around, giving Hermione a full view of him. Every delectable inch. And he didn’t lie, his cock was standing up proudly, more than ready for action. She stared at it, a needy sigh escaping her throat. Trapping his hard length between them, she lay down on him.The feel of him against her lower regions sent the developing heat in her own nether regions to reach a boiling point. They kissed, passionately, swallowing each other’s moans effectively. Then, Draco made an effort to roll them around, but she had anticipated that and pushed herself away from him, taking a kneeling position beside him.

Though she was not ready yet to let him take the lead, Hermione skipped the usual route. She didn’t lick her way down to his twitching appendage, didn’t follow the patch of soft dark blond hairs that started around his belly button, but, instead, immediately wrapped her lips around his cock without warning, impatient to taste him. 

He gave a strangled sound of full acquiescence and reflexively thrust his hips up. Then, she slowed down her movements to take her time to get to know him the better: his sounds, his likings, the particular spot behind his balls that made him hiss and tell her to stop before he lost control, the spot at the tip of his dick that made him moan so loudly when she caressed it with her tongue that she put up some silencing charms. Draco tasted clean, like water and soap, but also unmistakingly male with a draft she knew was uniquely him. His scent and her actions mixed to something sinuous that screamed at her brain to turn it off and jump him, but she didn’t want to rush it. There were so many joyful things one could do with a man without going ‘all in’, and having a mouth full of his cock was one of them.

Draco’s patience wore thin, and he didn’t remain passive any longer. His hands wandered over every part of her body he could reach from his position: he pinched one nipple deftly, leading the witch to gasp, pleasurably surprised, taking him deeper reflexively. He caressed her side and cupped her arse with a possessive grip, only to softly trail the juncture of her legs to her front. With a nudge, interrupted by a groan due to insistent sucking, he persuaded her to spread her legs. He called out the Mother of Merlin when he found her dripping for him as his delicate fingers fondled her. That must have been some kind of irresistible trigger for him, for he growled and, without so much as a warning, switched her around. Hermione now effectively straddled his face, and she nearly lost it then. Damn, but she loved the 69 position in this variation. She was really no nun in the bedroom, but kneeling above this gorgeous man, her back arched and her hips tilted forward to offer him her wet heat while she couldn’t get enough of his appendage, made her feel positively debauched and sexy as Hell. And when his tongue darted forward, first trailing her entrance with long moves and then attacking her clit with fast flicks, she had to release him for a moment to moan, unashamed and wanton.Something shifted in her, and she wholly submitted herself to the carnal pleasure they experienced. It was a blatant lie that only men lost control during sexual acts, and while Hermione had been at this point with other men, it had never felt like this.

They held it up like this for a while, pleasuring each other orally but keeping themselves from falling over the sweet precipice. Moans, sighs, and hard breathing echoed through the room, and suddenly, Hermione didn’t want to wait any longer. 

“Draco, put-” she didn’t finished her plea, because the man writhing between her thighs already pushed two of his fingers, which had previously kept her wide open, into her dripping pussy. He started pumping them in and out of her, and she knew then that her orgasm was only moments away. His moans blended into each other, his breathing ragged, and she could feel his heart hammering against her body where the skin of their bellies rubbed against each other. He had to be as close as she was. With a decisive, but barely conscious move, Hermione fastened her right hand around his cock beneath her lips. Draco made an unbelievably erotic sound then that send her over the edge and into the white ecstasy. She felt her pussy convulsing around his fingers, pulling them even deeper. This, in turn, made him spill his seed in her mouth. Very slowly, she became aware of her surroundings outside her bubble of bliss, and she made sure she swallowed every drop of his essence, for the first time actually enjoying it. With a thump! she heard his head falling back to the mattress. “Fuck, Hermione!” he groaned when she cleaned him up thoroughly, her tongue gliding over the sensible tip before she released him with a plopping noise. Her entire body flooded with endorphins, she started to giggle.

“What’s so funny down there?” Draco pinched her bum before she let herself fall to her side and next to him.Chuckling, she changed her position so she was now facing him, her chin resting on his sweaty and still heaving chest. He gleamed down on her, grey eyes sparkling.

“I can say so now, Mister Malfoy: your performance was ‘Outstanding’ in more than one way,” Hermione said and got a deep, rumbling laugh as an answer. 

“You little nymph! Wait until I show you what else this outstanding part can do!” His voice held a seductive promise.”But for now, we should sleep.” He pulled her closer to him, spreading the blanket over them.

With Draco’s rhythmic heartbeat in her ear and his arms curled around her body, she quickly fell into deep slumber, not giving a shit about their sweat and other juices coating them (which would call for a joint shower in the morning) - or unnecessary pillow barriers.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Again a shorter chapter, but I wanted to keep up my weekly schedule, and it felt right to cut the chapter where I did. Thank you for being so supportive. That makes me more happy than you may think. I hope things will get a little less demanding in the following weeks, so keep up with me, even if I'm a bit less responsive than I usually am.
> 
> Beta and alpha love to the brilliant MrBenzedrine89, my heroine!

When Harry entered their room in the morning, it took him approximately three seconds to raise his eyebrows questioningly. Well, Hermione surmised, he didn’t become Head Auror for being completely unattentive.

“Good morning, Harry!” Hermione greeted cheerfully, fully aware of what would come next. She knew her best friend inside out, after all. He glanced to the half-opened bathroom door behind which Draco (fully clothed!) put the last finishes on his appearance and tilted his head.

“What?” Hermione raised her hands defensively. It wasn’t as if she had killed someone!

“Do I really need to ask, mh?” No, he didn’t. Yet, she fired back, “If you can do so without blushing, yes!”

“Did you two...play a round of hide-the-wand?” Taking in Harry’s undeniable reddening, Hermione asked herself how his children came to be.They were adults, for Heaven’s sake!

“Not really, Harry.”

The blush deepened. “Oh, Hermione, how can you almost...you know?” Harry hissed, scandalized.

“Well, Potter, let’s say this beautiful woman’s mouth isn’t only talented with words and facts.” Perfect entry for Draco. He sneaked his hands around her waist, pulling her against him. That shut Harry up effectively. 

Hermione and Draco hadn’t talked about it, but it seemed the wizard had no qualms whatsoever to show his affection openly, which was oddly cute. She should tell him that. As a reaction, he’d demonstrate to her how not-cute he was, and, grey eyes blazing, press her against the wall and divest her of all of her clothes, before…

“Earth to Hermione! Do you still speak to mere humans on Vulcan, or do we have to do this mind-merging thing again?” Harry snapped his fingers in front of her face to gain her attention.

“No need to be so rude, humanoid!” she returned and flicked his ear. Draco grinned, probably glad that he wasn’t her victim for once, even if he didn’t get the reference.

“I made some interesting discoveries at Black Manor.” Both men switched into their professional stance so quickly that she had to smile. Her brave little Aurors. “Bellatrix herself explained she experimented with the Gemini charm, and yesterday I saw her practicing. The thing is, this charm works only on solid objects, but not on liquids. And the more valuable a substance, the shorter the spell lasts.”

“But in the Lestrange vault…” Harry interrupted.

“She must have either not refined it until then or strengthened it so it worked by its sheer number of duplications, maybe even both.” The dark-haired wizard nodded in understanding, and Hermione continued, “I mean, we still have to find it, but taking an educated guess and suspecting the time turner shell is made of very expensive material-”

“-Then we only need to get our hands on the time turner, duplicate it, fill it with the liquid and turn us back!” Draco uttered in awe and pressed a kiss on her lips. “You are brilliant!”

“Took you long enough to admit that without hexing me!” she laughed, her face heating up.

“Anything else you found out, Hermione?” Harry asked, squinting at the scene in front of him, clearly a bit uncomfortable with it. He always was like that whenever his best friend was too friendly with a male. Just because she could, she smacked a chaste kiss on Draco’s cheek.

“Actually I did nearly get poisoned by a very possessive Narcissa.” Witch Weekly would have paid thousands of Galleons for a photo capturing the Malfoy scion’s dumbfounded expression.

 

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

Hermione found out that, apparently, some things stayed the same, independant from the time: Ministry functions (even taking place in Malfoy Manor) were always boring, and Horace Slughorn always incompetent.

“The new cauldrons are very helpful, Mister Malfoy, thanks ever so much for the donation,” the Potions professor declared with his typically nervous twitching. 

“Education is the key to raise a successful generation of wizards, as you know. And there’s still so much to improve in that sector, I’m afraid.” Hermione could see that Abraxas was serious about the matter, and it did surprise her a bit.

Winifred smiled and explained, “My husband has some ideas for the future curriculum he regularly discusses with Mister Dumbledore. He is part of the school’s board, as you might know.”

“Very responsible,” Hermione complimented. “I’m curious about what those plans entail.”

An all too familiar ambitious gleam appeared in Abraxas’ grey eyes when he answered, “Well, it’s obvious that farce of Muggle Studies isn’t of use for anyone.” For a short moment, the brunette allowed herself to hope, but that was crushed in a flourish. “I mean, why should our young witches and wizards learn how to navigate the muggle world? The farther away from people without magic they stay, the better. Our own customs and history is what they lack!” 

Winifred nodded to her husband’s statements. “You’re lucky to consider yourself under the Malfoy’s tutelage, Miss Croft. Imagine how much harder it would be without someone guiding you through it at first.” Hermione tried to make an honestly thankful impression. “Wizards and witches with your upbringing need help to be a successful member of our society, and that’s what my husbands wants to instill in them.”

The young witch’s mind reeled at Draco’s grandparents’ words, and she grinded her teeth as not to spit out an accidental insult. Of course, the Malfoys were smart enough to see that the wizarding world needed fresh blood to continue existing, and if the children were brainwashed with the pureblood ideals, even persons of lesser standing were welcomed to take their proper place in the work force. Abraxas didn’t want educational equality; he wanted trained personnel.

Hermione forced a smile on her lips. “I imagine the Headmaster supports your well-thought vision?”

Abraxas sneered, and it was the first time she saw that on him. “Dumbledore is a fool. He hasn’t shown any respect for my suggestions so far.”

Slughorn, who had been quiet so far, found the courage to say something. “You know how our Headmaster is; he has some attitudes not widely supported. Maybe if-”

A hurdling scream resonated through the ballroom, and this time Hermione didn’t control her wand reflex. The trusted piece of wood held in her fingers, she scanned the mass of people to designate the source of the sound.

A person lying on the ground, and some others hovering around him, were quickly made out, and she followed Abraxas and Winifred on the heel. Getting closer, Hermione could identify Narcissa, kneeling on the floor, next to-

“Lucius!” Winifred cried, her usual composure forgotten for a moment. The Malfoy heir lay on his back, eyes wide open, the whole body stiff.

“What happened, Miss Black? Did someone hex him? It seems he is petrified.”

“I- I don’t know, really! We thought he had drank too much, and then, suddenly, he collapsed!” Narcissa, on the verge of tears, stuttered, all the while holding tight to Lucius’ lapels. Hermione’s brain analysed the situation: it couldn’t have been a usual Stupefy or Petrificus Totalus, because she could see the man’s erratic breathing. She had seen these symptoms before, similar at least, when she had worked in the hospital and someone had eaten at a cheap Japanese restaurant. They had wasted valuable time before they found out the patient had eaten fugu. Merlin’s balls, this wasn’t a hex, it was a poison!

In a haste, and her thoughts circling around Draco, Hermione’s fingers gripped the ever present pill in her pocket. Who knew if they wouldn’t need it for one of their own until they could bring themselves back? ‘It doesn’t matter, if Lucius dies, Draco will never come to exist!’

“He was poisoned!” She stepped forward, gently prying Narcissa away from the man. 

“Horace! Horace, do something!” Winifred pleaded at the nearby Potions professor, who merely gaped in shock. “What should I do?”

He’s had his chance, Hermione surmised and breathed in deeply. “Maybe I can help.” Without asking how her statement was qualified, Abraxas nodded to her, his expression stony. But she had observed Draco intensely; she recognized the panic underneath the surface. “I need some space to operate.” With a fast movement of her hands, she cast a light Disillusionment charm on her hands. In the edge of her vision, she saw Draco and Harry. Both men seemed to consider to hold her back but, apparently and rightfully, knew better than to stop her now. Hermione swiftly pulled the last allround antidote pill from her pocket and eased it between Lucius’ lips. Now she could only hope she had reacted fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- despite the hectic work life, I somehow ended up starting another story: "Being silly" is exactly what it sounds like. Maybe check it out?
> 
> \- two other stories of mine got nominated in the final round of the Dramione awards (Hell if I know how I deserve this): "Tickling the Dragon" (uploaded on another site) is nominated in the comedy category, "Unrelenting Sanity" in the dystopian category. Please consider voting for me? Just to warn you: there are so many amazing stories in there, it's difficult to decide!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that's the place where I have to apologize for the short chapter again, yes? Hope you like it, though.
> 
> My friend, beta, and role model MrBenzedrine89 gave the advice to stick to an update schedule if possible, and that's what I'm trying to do here despite busy work and another ongoing story (only two chapters so far). Beta love for MrBenzedrine 3

Lucius awoke with a start, tearing his eyes open in shock. Then, he took a deep, shuddering breath which ended in a coughing fit. Draco was relieved about this development, even if he couldn’t openly show it. 

He observed how Hermione checked the vital signs with a practised wand movement. “He’s going to be okay,” she declared loudly, her hand rubbing circles on his father’s back. Inexplicable jealousy flooded him, although he knew that she merely showed a trained, clinical behaviour she would have bestowed on anyone.

A hand was placed on his witch’s (was it okay he deemed her his?) shoulder, and Draco noticed it was Abraxas’. This gesture was as grand and thankful as it got outside of the immediate family, and Draco felt proud that his grandfather did it so openly. Malfoys weren’t as cold as they were expected to be, but real devotion was only shown behind closed doors and to the spouses, sometimes to the children if one was lucky. Draco had only experienced this closeness through his grandfather and mother, and the only opportunity to feel his own father’s hand on his shoulder had been one of correcting guidance or to express an expectation. Even if he never wanted to admit it: he wanted to treat his children like Potter acted around his rascals.

Hermione’s voice shook him out of his weird contemplations. “Miss Black, could you do me a favour and watch him for a while?” Narcissa reacted with a grateful nod and gave her a conspiratorial smile. Clearly, his mother was up to something.

Draco helped Hermione up from her kneeling position. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked quietly, looking him up and down. 

“I thought that would be my question to ask, since it was you who just casually saved a life.” He led her away from the speculating crowd.

“So, you’re not feeling any differently? Older? Less…Draco-ish?” she prodded, her eyes now gazing to Lucius, who left the room with Narcissa’s arms around his waist and a slightly dazed expression.

”No.” Though, he wasn’t totally certain whether Draco-ish was a compliment or an insult.

“Just a quick check: your birthday is on March fifteenth?” 

Draco frowned. “No, it’s on June fifth!” Had she hit her head somewhere? Or had whatever happened to Lucius now skipped to the pretty brunette?  
"Either your parents have an astonishing control over their libido, or the two of them are discreet and good in contraceptive spells. Somehow, I think it's the latter,” Hermione chuckled, clearly amused, and left him standing alone with his efforts to decipher her word’s meaning. He had a vague hunch that she was talking about timeline consistency, but became strongly distracted by her pert bum and the sway of her hips in that astonishing periwinkle dress when she walked over to Harry. The Head Auror had likely seen acting her so supremely heroic as she did minutes before, because he looked utterly relaxed and handed her a glass. Just when Draco wanted to state that it was his task to provide his lady with beverages, he bumped into someone. Or rather, someone bumped into him.

“Oh, ‘scuse me. Didn't pay attention to where I was walking,” a young man, slightly older than his father, uttered apologetically.

Finally, someone who admitted his mistakes. “It’s alright. Nothing happened.” The clumsy wizard smiled politely and wanted to proceed on his way when Draco stopped him.

“Sir, you have something on your shoulder.” He wasn’t exactly one to be friendly with strangers, but his impeccable sense of style obliged him to make the man aware of whatever substance was smeared on his plain robes.

The red-haired man looked at himself and groaned. “Those owls! I swear, one day I’ll find out why they only leave their mess on me! And then I’m going to hand them over to Molly to roast them! Thank you for telling me, Mister…” 

“Bilius Langdon.” Draco automatically extended his hand, which the Ministry wizard took without introducing himself. “I thought the owls would have long been exchanged for interdepartmental memos.” 

“Oh, no. - Oh! But what a brilliant idea!” The wizard seemed to contemplate something in his head before saying, “You know, my wife has a brother named Bilius, but all he does is stuffing food into his face and sleep.” 

Draco blinked upon the man’s misplaced bluntness. Before he could reply something, a tingling female laugh reached his ears, and he turned his head to the stunning witch who now buried her head in the bystanding man’s shoulder, endlessly amused about something. 

“If you will excuse me, it seems my female companion had a bit too much of the elven wine.” That wasn’t true, however, but he felt the desperate urge to touch her.

“Oh, I saw you two interacting; she is more than a mere companion.” The unknown man winked. “You should take her for a walk in the gardens - I heard they are quite beautiful at night.” With that, the ginger turned and walked over to the bar. Strange man; friendly, and somehow familiar.

“What has gotten into you two? Did you take some muggle drugs?” he said as soon as he arrived next to Hermione’s side.

“No,” Harry wheezed, “It’s just that I suddenly remembered something!” 

“What? That you are supposed to have some manners?” He laid one of his hands on the small of the still giggling Hermione’s back, fingers splayed and feeling quite possessive as he did so, but also delighted about the flushed gasp she made at it. 

Harry continued, his glasses slightly askew because he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, “It’s just that, you know, that was Arthur Weasley, Ron’s future father.” 

Now that was a weird coincidence. But was it really a reason to react so hysterically? Maybe in Gryffindor, it was. Not wanting to ponder any longer about the implementations, he led Hermione away from the buzzling crowd.

The evening air was clear and cool, but not cold enough to make them shiver without a warming charm. Draco slung his arm around the witch’s shoulders and caressed the exposed, warm skin there with his fingertips. Hermione gifted him with a dazzling smile that made his knees weak. 

“Aren’t you feeling recklessly elated right now?” he asked her. 

“No, why should I?” 

The blond tried to sound professional, what was difficult with his arms full of a curly haired genius. “It’s just because whenever we Aurors experience such a situation, we’re usually quite giddy afterwards for a bit, like a bit on a high.” 

“Adrenaline rush,” she analysed. “But it was less action and more thinking in there.” His disappointment must have been obvious, for she looked at him questioningly before her expression became smug. “You hoped I’d jump you.” Thankfully, it was dark enough on the garden path to reveal his pink ears.

“Is that too appalling for you?” Draco returned, a bit abashed. What had the world come to? He, Draco Malfoy, skirt chaser par excellence, practically begged for a witch’s attention? How could that be? One glance in the now mischievously sparkling brown eyes of Hermione let funny feelings in his stomach erupt, and he knew what the reason was: he was falling hard, not only through time, but primarily for this woman. 

“Quite the opposite.” She winked at him coyly. “But we’re in public, so what-” 

Prepared (because Malfoys always had an escape plan in the backhand), Draco tugged on her arm and made her squeal when they disappeared behind a wall of green. 

“And you forget I’m very familiar with these gardens.” 

The woman gasped at the beauty of the green hiding spot: a giant tree encircled them with its branches, the many leaves building an imperturbable alcove. A wooden bench stood in front of the massive trunk, and magical light illuminated the romantic scene. Now it was Draco’s turn to smile smugly.

“My grandfather created this when he courted my grandmother. It allowed them some alone time when they were officially taking a stroll in the gardens. It’s sound-proof, and one can only enter it when you know of it. Rumour has it my father came to existence here.” He sat down on the bench and pulled Hermione on top of him. Without hesitating, the witch straddled him and placed her knees on either side of his legs, what caused her dress to slide up. His fingertips ghosted over the now revealed thigh and caused her to shiver against him.

Hermione’s arms fastened behind his neck, and her forehead rested against his. As he continued his exploration of her body beneath the hem of her clothes, she asked, her voice drenched in arousal, “You must have inherited the sexual appetite from your grandfather then?”

He chuckled seductively, conscious of how much his deep timbre affected her. “Why don’t we find that out together, love?”

Her lips were on his as soon as the word left his mouth and captured him in a searing and overwhelming passionate kiss. Draco supposed that was a ‘yes’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the question who poisoned Lucius is going to be answered in a later chapter, okay? It will definitely come up.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi readers! Thank you that you continue reading this story. I cherish every single review, kudo and subscription! 
> 
> Tons of beta-love to MrBenzedrine89, who shakes me from my self-induced doubt every time. Also hugs for two other special ladies: LondonsLegend and Sam Wallflower - you know why.

If Draco hadn’t been hard before, he’d be now when he continued his exploration and reached the juncture of Hermione’s thighs.

“Fuck, Hermione!”

“Language, Mister Malfoy!” she laughed against his lips.

“I can’t very well keep my wits together when I discover you’ve had no knickers on the entire evening!” To emphasize his point, he pressed himself against her, causing them both to moan. “See what you do to me?”

“Exactly what I was going for.” She smiled devilishly, though a little shaky because he teased her clit with his thumb.

“Nymph,” Draco managed to bring out before their tongues clashed again. He slipped his hands under her bum to get her closer to him - so close in fact that she had no doubt about his state of need. Her hips rolled, seeking friction. Gods, if she kept that up, he’d come fully dressed like some hormonal school boy. 

Thankfully, she stopped and elevated herself up to her knees. Hermione’s face was flushed, and he was so glad that he lifted their Glamours when they had entered the secret place. That given, he could revel in her rosy cheeks - not Ophelia’s - her eyes, almost black from lust, her riotous curls cascading in a pleasant disarray over her shoulders, her smile that made his heartbeat speed up even more.

In his adoration of her, he almost missed that she worked on his fly and belt, quickly sighing in frustration because the offending pieces of fabric wouldn't come off fast enough. Draco snapped his fingers and smirked upon hearing the woman’s gasp when she was greeted with his naked skin - and a very prominent erection waiting for her, unveiled.

“You’re not the only one who knows wandless magic, witch.” 

She started to giggle. Huh, she had seen his cock already, and while he wasn’t exactly big, he never heard complaints before, so why was she giggling? 

“Sorry. The worst pick-up line ever just popped up in my mind.” Strangely, her humorous outburst did nothing to diminish his arousal. But that might have been due to the fact that she stroked him up and down with determined gestures.

“Ahhh. Yes?” he hissed in an attempt to communicate.

“Yes. You conjured the snake, but I can make it disappear.” Before he could ponder if the line was really that bad, Hermione had positioned his dick at her very moist entrance and lowered herself on him.

Tight. Hot. Wet. Draco's world was flooded with sensations.

“You’re perfect, Hermione,” Draco moaned. He prevented any potential movement with his hands on her hips because the emotions threatened to overcome him too fast, too soon. 

“Please, Draco!” she arched her back, bringing her breasts directly to his face. With one hand, he reached up and pulled the straps of her dress down (Salazar’s left testicle, she had also gone without bra!), exposing her perfect tits in the process. With the other arm around her back, he kept her immobile, although she writhed and whimpered. The fresh evening air immediately caused her nipples to harden, which was a spectacle he wouldn’t mind observing again and again. For now, his arms wrapped around her half-naked body, and his lips enclosed around one pebbled bud. When he alternated his sucking with purposeful nibbling, switching from one breast to the other, something primal, barely controlled before, was unleashed in the powerful beauty on his lap.

She threw her head back, moaning and begging, and started to ride him with deliberate, delicious moves that had him on the verge of coming every time she had his cock buried in her perfect pussy to the hilt. Higher and higher the ecstasy spiraled, trapping him, stretching every second to a perfect moment of exhilaration. He moved against her, thrusting up when she moved down, an indefectible match.

“Draco!” His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer, the clenching of her vaginal muscles encompassing him in the sweetest grip. When she came, he was totally enraptured by her bliss, and this time, his orgasm wasn’t falling over a cliff or the sudden, explosive spilling of his seed into an awaiting heat. This time, it was like he dissolved into nirvana completely for an unknown span of time, only to be puzzled together again by Hermione’s gentle kiss.

The awareness of his surroundings returned slowly; he became aware of their pounding heartbeat, of the sweat running down his forehead and brows, falling in heavy drops into her hair. Her head rested against his collarbone, and Draco realized how every muscle in his body was tingling in the aftermath of their coupling. He ran his hands over her back; hers caressed his neck while they whispered sweet nothings to each other. Be it the 1970s or the 2000s - this witch was a treasure Draco wanted to keep, whatever year it presently was.

“Here you are! I-”

And, apparently, Harry Potter had the perfect timing in every year.

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

Hearing her best friend entering the supposed secluded spot behind her threw Hermione off from her dulcet mindset. Grabbing the fabric of her dress to cover her breast, she bellowed, “Harry! For goodness sake!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Hermione!” 

Reflexively, she pressed her legs together - which caused Draco, his rapidly flaccid going penis snugly lodged inside her, to groan. “I know I can’t have any secrets from you, given you’re my superior and all, but a bit of privacy would be polite, even coming from you,” the youngest Malfoy drawled. Hermione couldn’t hear Harry moving, so she supposed he was still petrified by catching her in the act, so to speak.

“Turn around, Potter. Now.” Draco’s undoubtable command finally did it. 

When the two of them had their clothes in all the right places again, Hermione started to giggle at the absurdity of it all. Then something occurred to her: “I thought only those who know of this alcove can enter?” 

Draco ran his hand over his back, clearly a bit discombobulated by her question. “I had honestly forgotten that I showed it to him as part of the manor’s evaluation after the war.”

She laughed and pressed a sweet kiss on his lips. “You are forgiven.”

The blond’s expression turned smug, and he smirked. “So no making up for my grave mistakes on my knees with my head buried inside-” Harry cleared his throat loudly. “Subtle. But I guess we’re even now. You know, Hermione, I came into the Head Auror’s office one day, only to find him and his lovely wife on his desk-”

“We should really talk about the attack on Lucius now!” Harry interrupted hastily, “What’s your professional opinion on it, Hermione?” 

Hermione jumped diligently to action, reciting, “Whoever did this must have gotten a T in Potions for sure. I don’t think this substance was meant to have such a drastic effect, but it was mixed with alcohol, and that changes a Potion's effect, as we all know because Snape used to repeat it again and again.” Harry and Draco nodded approvingly, the sound of Snape’s not so gentle reminders still ringing in their ears (plus the occasional addition of ‘you flobberwormed dunderheads!’).

“What kind of beverage was it?” Harry asked.

“White wine, I think.” 

Draco frowned. “I don’t think my father was the attack’s target, as he only drinks white wine when it accompanies the dinner course. But it’s my mother’s favourite drink…” he trailed off, thoughtful.

“So, probably, it was Narcissa who should have been harmed,” Harry concluded. “Do you know who might want to attack her?” While Draco contemplated, Hermione had a clue instantly.

“I know someone.” The two men looked at her expectantly. “It is something Narcissa said when she told me to stay away from Lucius. She told me she had already warned Bellatrix to try something concerning him. It sounded pretty serious, not like a spat between two sisters competing in a harmless flirt.”

“It definitely sounds like something my dear Aunt Bellatrix would be capable of. She isn’t that mental yet, so I doubt she wanted to cause serious harm, but throwing my mother off long enough to become unattractive as a wife for the Malfoy heir fits perfectly in her book. Unfortunately, and that’s one of the reasons Severus detested her from the beginning, she’s always been a disaster in Potions. So whatever she designed for taking Mother out of the game, it backfired.”

“Because Lucius accidentally grabbed Narcissa’s wine?” Harry supplied.

“No. Because Bellatrix doesn't know yet he has a habit that throws my mother in for a loop until the present day,” Hermione’s heart soared at he brilliant smile he presented her, “and that’s teasing her quite pathetically when he wants to get her attention.” The witch knew he was not only talking about his father, but also about him personally. “His favourite gambit is to nick her drink from under her nose before she has a chance to taste it.”

“I certainly have no qualms to blame Bellatrix. Though, we have no proof to confront her about that,” Harry pointed out. 

Draco followed closely, “And exactly why should we do that?” 

Hermione wanted to slap him. “Do you ever listen to me when I lecture you about time? We need to keep Narcissa out of harm’s way. If something happens to her, you could cease to exist.” 

“And they say Slytherins are drama queens…” The blond let his head fall back, rolling his eyes. However, his view zoomed in on the tree trunk, partly covered by ivy. “Could it really be this easy?”

“What do you see, Draco?” Hermione inquired upon noticing the excitement in his voice. With a triumphant smirk, the wizard strolled to the tree’s base. The ivy parted, and words, carved into the bark, became fully visible:

W + A - a love treasured forever

Winifred and Abraxas, Hermione pondered it must have been a very strong, love-filled relationship. So strong in fact that they carved their initials into a tree, hidden from the cold society’s eyes. Another spell and some purple sparks from her wand later, and the three time travellers stood there, transfixed, their suspicions confirmed.

“I can’t believe my grandfather hid the time turner in a tree!” Draco muttered.

“With all that tree-loving, you should check your ancestry for connections with the Longbottom family.”

“Shut up, Potter, or your next job is doing photosynthesis in my garden.”

“Oh, you know what photosynthesis is? Ten points to Slytherin!”

“Well, your genius best friend shagged some knowledge into me.” 

Over the boy’s bickering and her amusement at it, Hermione felt it: the journey home was within their reach now. Finally.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, dear readers, including this one, we're three, maybe four chapters away from finishing this story. Next week is the epitome of busy for me, but I'll try to post the next one as soon as possible, alright?
> 
> I know I repeat this every chapter, but it stays true: MrBenzedrine89 deserves all the shout-outs you give her, because she's freakin' awesome!

Hermione giggled at the sight above her: several witches and wizards played a friendly round of Quidditch, and Draco had also been invited to join. He flew with such an ease and joy that she realized he had indeed inherited his talent. Lucius scored one goal after the other as a Chaser, and she had observed enough Quidditch games to notice how good Draco’s father was. But, judging by the way his hands grabbed the broomstick, the disguised Malfoy himself was utterly frustrated, probably at the comparably low speed the 1975 model was going. Even she could see the difference between their time’s brooms and the one ‘Mister Slytherin Seeker’ flew now. The brunette didn’t exactly care about that. Quite the contrary: this way, she could observe her boyfriend’s lithe body even better. Merlin, but he looked delicious in his makeshift Quidditch gear, especially his tousled hair and how the sweat-soaked shirt pressed against his pectorals…It was so sad Harry had to fulfil some obligations and couldn’t be with them to take photos of this event.

‘Focus, Hermione! We’re still on a mission.’ One week after the ‘tree that bound them’-incident, and they were no closer to getting home than before. Suspecting a password protection, all three of them had tried to extract the time turner from its wooden hiding place, but even with their impressive arsenal of charms and spells, they couldn’t find an inauspicious tactic. The only possibility short of blasting the whole thing from the garden was, indeed, getting the password from Abraxas or Winifred. 

Absolutely not willing to partake in the game herself, Hermione’s task was to socialize with the pureblood ladies around her: Winifred, Druella Black and her daughters, and a witch she suspected would become Pansy Parkinson’s mother one day (just because of the pug face - the woman herself was surprisingly nice).

Gossip. Gossip was the only thing the witches constantly talked about. Who had been seen with which wizard in which robe, or even better: who was the new beau at Laura Zabini’s side? Years spent in one dormitory with Lavender and Parvati had prepared Hermione for a situation like this, so she could nod and gasp at all the appropriate and inappropriate places. But from one second to another, she switched into her professional role again, and that was when Bellatrix excused herself to visit the library. Winifred nodded to that, confirming that all knowledge of the Malfoy library was open to the young witch. Inwardly, Hermione scowled at the unfairness of the gesture, but outwardly, she followed Bellatrix after a few minutes. 

She knew it was not the best of ideas to confront the witch alone, but they had to protect Draco’s life. And as the Slytherin Prince was busy chasing a fluttery ball, someone had to do the job. Soon enough, Hermione entered the fan-fucking-tastic library of Malfoy Manor. With almost inhuman effort, she avoided to touch every single of the many books or to take one and curl around it in one of the cozy looking armchairs. Maybe later, when the came back to their own time, Draco would let her into this paradise? For now, she approached Bellatrix, who traced the spines in a section Hermione identified as object magic before taking one out and opening it. Her hands were busy holding the tome. A good opportunity to approach her without immediately being hexed.

“I suggest a good Potions book, as your lack of skills in that sector became apparent just last weekend,” she addressed the black haired woman, quite proud at the dramatic opening line. Draco had already left his imprints on her, not counting the ones from the romp in the shower this morning.

Bellatrix, like a true Slytherin, ignored her jab. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“That your attempt to outplay your sister failed miserably,” Hermione revealed. “What was it exactly you infused the white wine with? Something to induce a coma? A mental disorder? Or infertility? In any case, Lucius would have to switch to the other young Miss Black to seal the union with the family Abraxas wishes for?” Bellatrix’ face contorted into the haunting mask Hermione was so familiar with. “But instead, the object of your desires drank from it and only narrowly escaped death.” 

Hands tensed around the book. “Even if it were as you’re saying, nobody is going to believe you, Abraxas’ pretty pet, especially when there’s no prove.” 

“Who said there’s no proof?” Hermione called her bluff, furrowing an eyebrow like she had observed so often in a certain blond’s face.

“You can’t possibly think I’m daft enough to let someone catch me,” Bellatrix laughed, the crackling sound already hinting at the maniacal sound of the future. 

Despite breaking out in cold sweat while fighting a flashback, Hermione explained, “And this is where you, in all your pureblood arrogance, so delightfully err. In 1897, Scotland Yard convicted the first criminal by fingerprints. You can’t possibly know that, because - and here do I have to side with Abraxas - the Muggle Studies at Hogwarts are rubbish,” she paused for effect, folding the hands behind her back to grip her wand from the loose sleeves of her blouse. “They failed to teach you that you leave fingerprints on everything you touch. The handle of this library’s door, your wand, Narcissa’s wine glass…” trailing off, she rejoiced in the short, but shocked realisation on the other woman’s face without an ounce of guilt. Hermione had cornered the biggest bitch of her time, and it felt so good.

What didn’t feel so good, however, was the Stinging hex the other witch flung at her after dropping the book in her hands to grab her wand. The bibliophile would have minded the rough handling of a bookish item, hadn’t she been busy ducking for cover from the following curse. With her back against a bookshelf, she produced her wand. 

“Expelliarmus!” she bellowed, knowing she had missed, firing blind around the corner.

“Disarming? You really are a nice girl, aren’t you? Reducto!”

“Part-time!” Hermione quipped at Bellatrix, dodging the spell and running to the next shelf. With a precise, “Oppugno!” the brunette sent several books flying in her opponent’s direction. Hopefully, she hadn’t damaged one. Bellatrix cursed, and just when Hermione wanted to add a Stupefy, a loud, bangig noise behind her made her turn her head. Expecting another attack, she raised her wand, only to identify the sound as a bludger which had impacted on the large windows without breaking it and lay on the grass now.

The momentary distraction, though, proved itself fatal.

“Confringo!” Hermione heard from her left, followed by a nasty sound of wood cracking. She was knocked off her feet, a massive weight hitting her body. Her mind registered what must have happened before she touched the ground; Bellatrix had blasted at least two bookshelves at her. They tumbled down, burying her beneath splintering mahogany and inked parchment. She screamed in pain, excruciating ache shooting through her entire body. Unconsciousness enveloped her for some seconds, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw Bellatrix’ face looming over her. Hermione couldn’t move; she couldn’t shout for help - the other witch had silenced her.

“Such a pity. When you will be found, suffocated by the blood in your lungs and your bones crushed by centuries of pureblood superiority, the only explanation will be that you somehow must have triggered the library’s defenses. Must have been because you’re no real witch.” Hermione’s vision blurred, and she could faintly hear Bellatrix’ footsteps retreating.

All alone in the room, she fought a panic attack. ‘Calm. Don’t panic. Analyse the situation.’ Her training kicked in, supplying her with diagnoses, deviated from what she could feel: Internal bleedings due to blunt trauma, probably the lungs on the verge of collapsing, massive cranial and spinal damage - and the bookshelf still laying on her didn’t exactly help. On top of that, she couldn’t even alert someone, her injuries hindering her from conjuring enough magic to cast something non-verbal and wandless. She had honestly no idea where her wand even was.

What a fucked up situation. Just once before things had felt so dire to her that she believed she would die. And, ironically, it had been in this house, too, under the wand of the same witch. History repeating itself. 

Hermione knew her injuries were fatal, and only minutes were left before she died. The witch was proud to say she regretted only a few things in her life. One was the oblivation of her parents, an act of desperation she would handle differently now after years of adulthood. The other, and the irony caused hysterical giggling to bubble up between closed lips, was that she had to go back through time for her and Draco to have something precious develop between them. It wasn’t love yet, she was aware, but...the potential was undoubtedly there, waiting to be nurtured, stroked, and fought for. And now she had to give that up.

Lost in pain and a delirious state, the witch almost wanted to jerk back instinctively when a face entered her limited vision.

Draco.

“Fuck, Hermione, what happened? Are you alright?” His voice was filled with panic as he used his wand to shove the bookshelf away from her without struggle, falling to his knees beside her. She, of course, couldn’t move, until her assessed her, his eyes widening when his hands roamed over her body. 

“Why don’t you - oh those bastards, they petrified you! Finite!” His spell finally allowed her to breath freely again, and she forcefully pulled air into her lungs, only to end up coughing. Hermione tried to sit up, but the pain in her body had changed to numbness. Rationally, she knew it was because the blood in her body was forced into the central parts: brain, heart, lungs. But it was no use, as she could feel something warm trickling down her chin. Bellatrix had been correct in her prediction: she was drowning in her own blood, and there was nothing Draco could do.

Hermione recognized the moment he came to the same realization. Instead of running her wand over her in shaky motions, mumbling emergency incantations to mend the damage, the grey in his beautiful eyes clouded like the overcast sky before a calamitous storm. She gathered her last reserves to speak when he cradled her head in his hands, not caring that his hands were bathed in the liquid that had separated them for so long.

“Draco...it….Bellatrix. A bludger at the window...it distracted. Should have paid…”

“Shhh,” he whispered against her forehead. “You- my silly, brave witch, going after Bellatrix alone. You’re so stubborn, thinking that ‘Death by Library’ would be a reasonable thing to pursue.” She tried laughing at his tear-stained, lame joke, but all that came out was a strangled cough that caused more blood to block her respiration. She grabbed his arm, clutching it with all her remaining strength. “Don’t leave me, Hermione. Not now, not here…” he begged, and it broke her heart. The witch wanted to answer him, wanted to tell him what she felt, when her thoughts scattered. Fragments of her parents, of Harry and Ron, of her grandparents lulled her mind to rest. When a warm darkness engulfed her, and her last breath left her in Draco’s arms on the floor of the library of Malfoy Manor, she knew one thing for certain:

Time was the most underappreciated gift of life.

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

Draco felt his whole thinking turning to ice the moment he felt Hermione’s heartbeat stop. The lifeless form of the most brilliant witch of their age still held tight to him, he allowed himself a moment of fleeting grief, a second of breaking in which his world crumbled.

“Three, two, one…” he counted out loud, and when he had reached zero, he pulled himself together, his brain and heart protesting under the pressure. For once, Draco was glad for one habit instilled on him since his youth, and that was keeping up a cool facade. No matter how much turmoil was underneath, he could hold up a calm, controlled surface. He would thank his father for that particular aspect of his education. 

When they returned to their own time. 

After he had brought Hermione back. 

After he had bent time to his will.

‘Forever treasured’ - it was these words that wouldn’t leave his head since they discovered them carved into the tree a week ago, and he wanted to act on them. Though, it wasn’t a an exactly rational or selfless decision, unlike a fight in a duel on Auror duty where he would throw himself into the lines of curses to protect others. 

He knew it was a dangerous game, and the stakes were high - he could almost hear Hermione rambling over time line consistency - but the win was what he aimed for. Not only aimed for, he corrected himself; he knew he wouldn’t want to return to his time without the woman. Hell, at this point he couldn’t fathom a life without her in it. Without consciously deciding to move, Draco carefully laid Hermione down on the floor, not bringing it over him to take a closer look at her, afraid that that would break his resolve. With his wand clutched firmly in his hand, the wizard left the library without turning back, erecting some wards behind him he knew the room would accept from him as a Malfoy, but couldn’t be taken down by anyone else than himself. Nobody could see what had occurred in there. 

With every step towards the Quidditch field, Draco’s conviction grew. There was only one way. Only one solution. He straightened his robes, knowing a certain appearance was important to bring forth his plan, or rather, his plea. When he arrived at a group of wizards chatting over politics or blood supremacy or whatever, his voice was strong and sharp as he spoke, “Excuse me, Mister Malfoy, but I need your help. And the time is running.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to the awesome MrBenzedrine who proofread this so very fast!
> 
> Also: Titus Lucretius Carus was a Roman poet and philosopher who lived in the first century B.C.

“What is so urgent that you disrupt my chat with my friends from the Wizengamot, Mister Langdon?” Draco felt his grandfather’s chastising glare on him. When he was a child, this had sent him running, but not anymore. Not when there was so much more to lose than broomstick rights. He beckoned the older wizard away, his voice a mere whisper. “Listen. I know the Malfoys aren’t people who trust easily, but I need you to believe, and, even more important, to help me.” Something in his posture, voice, or words had convinced Abraxas, for he followed him along the path deep into the gardens. However, it didn’t escape his notice that Abraxas’ hand gripped his wand casually. 

Draco stopped in front of the green wall that hid the secret alcove. “We’re going into the alcove at the same time, because I know you wouldn’t follow me if I stepped in first,and I wouldn’t trust you not to hex me if you went first.”

“How-” the other wizard asked, visibly flabbergasted. After all, the hiding place was a very well-kept secret.

“Please, I’m going to explain, I promise.” ‘Please’ and ‘promise’ were words one would rarely hear from Draco (or a Malfoy in general), but they rolled over his tongue easily. Times had changed, and he had changed with them. 

With a reluctant (but distinct) nod, Abraxas agreed, and together, they stepped through the hedge. “Who are you, really? How do you know of this place?” When someone knew him well, and the younger wizard certainly fit this criterion, they could read the apparent indignation on his face now. 

“I’m going to show you. But I need to use my wand now for lifting some charms, alright?” Draco spoke as calmly as possible, like he was trained to do so in these situations; though, his insides were an emotional mess.The elder man’s stance widened when he unconsciously adapted a dueling position. As slowly as his inner turmoil allowed, the Auror ran his wand over his hands and his eyes.

“You’re a Malfoy,” his grandfather stated after scrutinizing the now revealed characteristic grey eyes and the signet ring on Draco’s hand. 

“There were times I wished I could deny that.” As soon as the quiet words left his mouth, Draco could hear Hermione scowl at him in his mind. ‘Oh yes, I know. Fuck the timeline in some points,’ he determined. Some things hadn’t changed, and his determination to get what he wanted was one of them. And he wanted Hermione Granger. “I can’t reveal much more, but there are some things you should know. Keep an eye on Bellatrix - she is the one responsible for the poisoning of your son. And the bitch, if you excuse my uncouth language, has just murdered my...companion in the library.” Cold dread manifested itself in the pit of his stomach as Draco spoke the latter part. Putting Hermione’s death in actual words made it so real and even more unbearable.

“Ophelia?” Abraxas asked, carefully, and Draco could read a tint of sadness in his voice.

“That’s what you call her.”

“What do you want from me, then?” 

Draco snorted. “That should be obvious, shouldn’t it? I want the password for the tree to get the time turner. I will turn back time and rescue her.” 

His grandfather’s grey eyes narrowed at the revelation, and his voice was angry when he drawled, “That’s insane. You can’t possibly believe that I would give this priceless, dangerous possession to you! I don’t even know who you are, exactly. You could be a polyjuiced criminal who stole the family’s signet ring, for all I know.” 

“We both know that I’m not. And I can’t give you any details. I am...not from now.” ‘Smart wording,’ he thought to himself sardonically. ‘Grandfather must think I’ve been sorted into Hufflepuff.’

“Prove it,” Abraxas demanded. “Prove you’re no stranger. That you are trustworthy.” The forsaken paranoia and mistrust - this whole endeavour would be so much easier in a family of Gryffindors! Draco closed his eyes and structured his thoughts for a moment, fastly digging for something that showed his familiarity and was as exclusive as it was harmless. When he opened them again, he smirked triumphantly. “There’s a secret stash of German chocolate under the bust of Armand in your study. Not even your wife knows of it.” In one of his first bouts of accidental magic, little Draco had blasted the thing from its podium and uncovered the sweet secret when he played with dragon figurines on the rug while Abraxas worked on his desk. Now, the head of the family tilted his head in astonishment. “Enough of the games now! With every passing second my chances are getting lower to correct what that mental witch has done!” adult Draco impatiently urged. 

But the elder Malfoy was seemingly unimpressed. “Why is it so important to you to rescue the girl? I mean, her death is certainly tragic, and it’s a nightmare if the press gets wind of it as it happened in the manor, but why is it so important for you to turn back the time?” He was aware that Abraxas tested him, as he always used to do, so there was nothing but the truth that could save him (and, hopefully, Hermione) now. “She may be a sodding Gryffindor with a catastrophic talent of getting involved in nefarious plans, but she’s the smartest, most forgiving, loveliest witch a man can hope for. And I certainly don’t deserve her, but somehow, she deemed me and my arrogant arse worthy of her affection, and I’ll be damned if I let her go.” He couldn’t risk revealing anything about blood status or purity, because that probably would have led to discussions he really had no time for at the moment. Still, he must have hit a nerve, because without further comment, Abraxas turned around to the tree, his wand in hand, and spoke, “Ab imo pectore.” 

“From the bottom of my heart,” Draco automatically translated, familiar with Lukretius’ works. Meanwhile, the tree trunk emitted a soft, white glow and finally revealed what so many desired. He stepped closer to see what his grandfather extracted: there, dangling on a thin golden chain, glowing in the sparse, greenish light of the alcove, was the time turner. An intricate orb, filled with a familiar sparkling liquid, embedded in several circles of an unknown metal or maybe an alloy - not that it mattered to him in this very moment. The circles were scaled, measuring minutes, hours, days, and years. A clever construction, Draco surmised, and a very dangerous one. He extended his hand, aiming for the precious object.

Abraxas closed his hand around the time turner, effectively shielding it from the other wizard. “I am coming with you.”

Draco groaned inwardly. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re indeed a Malfoy, Lucius’ son, perhaps,” the elder blond sent him a knowing smirk and Draco knew he had figured it out, “then you know that in this time, I am the master of this manor, and I am in control of what happens in here.” Abraxas wove powerful authority into his words, and his grandson was aware he wouldn’t win this argument.The last time Abraxas had spoken in this tone with him, he had painted moustaches on the male and female portraits of the West Wing. 

“Twenty minutes, twenty-five to be sure,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “We have to interrupt them before a stray bludger hits the window and distracts Her- Ophelia.”

“Do I get any more information?”

“Only that she is a real genius and foolishly confronted Bellatrix about her role in Lucius’ poisoning - alone.”

“Typically Gryffindor, your witch,” Abraxas chuckled, suddenly good-natured, before admitting, “But those Blacks really have a mental streak. Except Narcissa, maybe.” 

Before he would reveal more than he intended, Draco instructed, “I don’t know if you’ve ever used it-” He was relieved as he observed how the other man shook his head, “but this thing only transports through time, not through space.”

“I thought as much. That means we have to dash for the library from here, yes?”

The blond nodded. “Exactly. But wait, I know I’ve been searching for Ophelia in the manor twenty-five minutes ago, after dropping out of the Quidditch game, so nobody would notice my absence. What about you?”

Abraxas’ eyes were already fixed on the time turner when he muttered, “Don't you worry. I was in the kitchens, observing the house elves in their dinner preparations.”

“Liar.” As if his grandfather would ever make the way to the kitchens for that! One pair of grey eyes bored into another. “We Malfoys all have a sweet tooth. You were nicking some cake, I bet.”

“Twenty-five minutes it is.” Ignoring Draco’s words, Abraxas slung the chain around both their necks. His thumb and index already on the minutes circle of the time turner, the older wizard looked him straight in the eyes.“You are sure about this?”

However, Draco didn’t hesitate to answer, “More than about anything in a very long time.”

With a strangely proud expression, Abraxas spun the second inner most circle and catapulted them back in time. Luckily, the unpleasant sensations Harry had described as ‘being forced through a much too tight basilisk-water slide’ didn’t last long due to the short gap they had to bridge. 

As soon as dizziness faded, the men hurried to the manor. Of course, they didn’t run (because imagine Abraxas Malfoy running anywhere!) and were interrupted by the Minister’s assistant. “Mister Malfoy, if you-”

In characteristic Malfoy-fashion, Abraxas brushed the poor man aside, as if he were a disgusting fly. “Excuse me, Mister Abbott, but there’s an interesting family heirloom I intend to show Mister Langdon.” And without further interruption, Draco and his grandfather made they way to the library’s doors. 

“I’m going in first. For all we know, they could fire dangerous spells around and I can’t risk you to get hurt.” Draco carefully opened a door, his wand at the ready.

“Well, I’m in my own house and don’t tolerate any hexes fired in my library,” Abraxas said, ignoring the Auror’s careful approach, and entered the room. Draco shook his head, unbelieving. Were they all so arrogant or were there some Gryffindors and their silly bravery smuggled into his bloodline without telling him so? However, he followed suit and within a millisecond, he noticed Hermione, her back against a bookshelf. 

Alive.

“Disarming? You really are a nice girl, aren’t you? Reducto!” Bellatrix roared.

“Part-time!” Hermione quipped, dodging the spell and running to the next shelf.

Knowing better than to step between two fighting witches, Abraxas raised his wand. “Accio wand!” Gasping, Bellatrix spun around, finally realizing that someone had entered.

“Is there any decent explanation of why you’re causing this ruckus in my library, Miss Black? I don’t take it this is a behaviour your mother taught you.” Rendered speechless, Bellatrix lowered her head. But Draco barely heard what the man said. Instead he approached Hermione, who stared at him, surprised, but happy from those warm brown eyes. He extended his hand, intending to pull her into an embrace, when, indeed, a bludger crashed into the nearby window without breaking it. Nevertheless, before rationality could take over, his Auror instincts kicked in and her pulled Hermione behind him. Not very gently at that.

“Ouch!” she protested. “What the Hell?”

“Nothing, Miss Croft.” Abraxas explained in his stead, wary eyeing the undoubtedly trained grip Draco had on his wand. “Your...companion merely protected what is important to him, even if he was motivated by false clues.” The younger man nodded, thankful to see understanding in his grandfather’s face and a knee-weakening smile on Hermione’s. He’d ponder the deeper meaning behind those words later on.

“Family is so important, don’t you agree, Bellatrix?” the patriarch addressed the mental menace by her first name like a child, demeaning her while thoughtfully observing the gardens. “It has always been the Malfoy’s strongest trait to protect what is theirs, come Hell and high water.” Arms crossed behind his back and fiddling the witch’s wand between his fingers, Abraxas continued, “And may Merlin be with the ones who threaten us.” A thinly veiled warning from Abraxas’ mouth, spoken with a power and authority that left no room for discussions.

”The Blacks are the same,” Bellatrix asseverated. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear, my dear. With this attitude, you’re going to make some wizard a good wife one day.” Or, in other words: good luck. You’re not going to marry into this family. Though, at this point, Draco felt conflicted: did this mean they were responsible for Bellatrix marrying Lestrange? Did they shove her over the brink of sanity with their actions? Or would that have happened either way, even without their interference? He felt a headache coming up. 

“But you’re right, of course. The old pureblood families all share so many valuable traits that have to be preserved.” Gesturing to the entrance in means to guide the younger people from the room, Abraxas’ slate eyes travelled to his descendant now.  
“Now that you’re almost finished with your research of the Malfoys, maybe the Blacks could be the next family you investigate? I heard they have a very special townhouse in London.” Abraxas winked conspiratorially, and Draco could read the low opinion of Grimmauld Place in his grandfather’s words.

Side by side and following Abraxas and Bellatrix with some distance, Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand tight. As soon as the others were out of sight, he pinned her to the nearest wall. Unable to withhold his emotions any longer, he kissed her, desperately and deeply, proving to himself that she was indeed there. After a surprised gasp, she reciprocated - until oxygen became an issue. He could hear her concern when she asked, “You’re out of sorts, what happened?” 

“Suspicious much? Can’t you simply be thankful that I probably saved your pretty arse from Bellatrix?” 

“I would have handled her, thank you very much.” Naturally, his bright and equally stubborn witch would say something like that. Before he could reply something silly, Draco revealed, grinning proudly, “I got the password.” 

Unbridled happiness showed on the brunette’s face. “That’s fantastic!” 

“What else did you expect? I’m a Malfoy, after all.” A playful slap on his head followed suit, making Draco smirk.

“You’re such a prat sometimes! Do you think I wouldn’t realize you kept something from me? I know you did.”

He kissed her forehead, resigned. “I must be losing my Slytherin charm, then.”

“Slytherin charm isn’t even mentioned in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ and thus doesn’t exist.” Both chuckled, and Draco released her from his arms. Interlacing their fingers, they started walking towards the gardens again. “Will you tell me? Whatever it is?” Hermione was serious now, though her tone revealed nothing but genuine curiosity.

“In time, I promise,” Draco answered, truthfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are most welcome!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, but I really had too much to do in the past two weeks, and that isn't over yet. 
> 
> Beta love to the brilliant MrBenzedrine89 - I can be pretty demanding, but she gives me nothing but friendship <3

A strange soberness lay in the air when Draco and Hermione packed their possessions some hours after the incident in the manor’s library. All the things they had acquired, the lingerie, the 1970s-chic - if Hermione’s theory was correct (and it usually was), they could all take them on their journey back to the future as long as they were connected to their bodies. This procedure was not simply a way to gather souvenirs, but also one to wipe at least some of their traces. However, the photos Harry had taken and sold, the people they had ran into...some things couldn’t be erased from the timeline, not without risking even more damage. That reminded Hermione of something.

 

“What did Abraxas say when you asked for access to the Malfoy grounds tonight?” Draco had argued that it would only make sense to fill his grandfather into their plans. After all, he could keep Lucius and Winifred away from the gardens while the time travelling group of three copied the timeturner and Apparated away - not to mention there could be wards in place Draco didn’t know of to prohibit that.

 

“Well, you know we Malfoys are all Slytherins…”

 

“Let me guess,” Hermione huffed, “‘ _ quid pro quo _ ’?”

 

He smirked at her. “Did you expect anything else? You can take the grandfather out of Slytherin, but never the Slytherin out of the grandfather.” Then, the blond shrugged his shoulders. “But he knew I couldn’t reveal too much to him, so he only asked one question.” The tease turned away from her, leaving her hanging - pure torture for the curious know-it-all Hermione was. She shoved him, playfully, to encourage a response. Of course, the wizard didn’t move one inch. “Merlin, Draco! What did Abraxas want? For you to name your firstborn son after him? That one’s no better than  _ Scorpius _ !”

 

“Already looking for baby names, Granger?” he quipped back, and Hermione spluttered, her cheeks tingling, “N- no! Just-”

 

“Relax, love.” This time, his smile was at ease, and the witch knew he only bantered.

 

He did, didn’t he?

 

“But you were close, he merely wanted to know whether I was named after a constellation.”

 

“But that’s a tradition among the Blacks, not the Malfoys. You basically told him you were an offspring of both lines,” Hermione voiced her concern. Okay, maybe she had thrown a tiny fit when Draco had told her that, in order to get the password, he had confessed to be a Malfoy descendant.

 

“I’m aware. Though, I presume he only wanted confirmation of what he already knew.” In an odd fit of cuteness, Draco booped her nose. ”Stop overusing that busy brain of yours. It will be all good when we go back.” Oh how she wanted to believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Leaving already?” Marty folded his Daily Prophet in a way that made Hermione cringe: in reading order, not in published order.

 

“Yes, we already overstretched our welcome, I’m afraid. Though, we’re going to come back to the Leaky Cauldron some time.” Hermione was proud that she didn’t even lie to the man behind the counter. 

 

“You can call me anytime, hun, if you need a room. Privately,” Marty hopefully announced, accompanied by a not-so-subtle wink. 

 

Draco frowned, his possessiveness kicking in - not that there was any reason for it - and enunciated, “Not going to happen.” 

 

“Why? Because I’m not a handsome blond?” Marty asked back.

 

Before the situation turned into a very stupid pissing contest, Hermione interfered. She raised on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste, though unmistakingly  _ not _ platonic, kiss on Draco’s cheek. “No, because you’re not  _ him _ .”

 

Before Draco could let the smug expression on his face follow any comments against poor Marty, Harry entered the scenery. For once, he was on time. “All packed up and ready to go, you two? We should hurry; it’s already getting dark outside.” Hermione spared him the explanation that it didn’t matter if they started at dusk or at dawn - the endpoint of their journey would always be the same.

 

“Yes, we’re ready,” she answered, gently steering Draco away from the counter. “We got everything packed and are ready to go home.” Harry smiled hopefully at her words, showing clearly how much he missed his family, even when they wouldn’t realize he had been gone for months. The three of them were already half their way out of the Leaky when Draco stopped, his posture bordering panic.

 

“Wait, I need to have something before we travel back! It won’t work otherwise!”

Hermione wracked her brain what they could miss, but she came up with nothing essential. 

 

“What is it, Malfoy? 1.21 Gigawatts? A Flux capacitor?” Harry tapped his feet impatiently.

 

Draco raised one of his eyebrows. “I don’t know what I should do with  _ that _ , but I meant my broom.” While Hermione could only roll with her eyes, her best friend nodded, suddenly understanding. 

 

“True. You can’t leave that gorgeous piece of wood, can you?” Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy: a bromance founded on Quidditch and hunting dark wizards. Not much different from one based on a troll in a bathroom, she supposed.

 

The precious broom shrunken and stowed away, two wizards and one witch safely Apparated to the manor’s gardens. Duplicating the time turner’s shell brought surprisingly zero problems, and Hermione only smiled softly at the password. Some of those Slytherins, namely Abraxas, Draco, and maybe Blaise, had a soft interior beneath all the layers of hard scales. You just had to prod them hard enough to reveal it.   
  
Very carefully, she filled the time substance into the empty shell while Draco put the original back into the tree. Hermione admired the intricate design of the dangerous object, the magic, handiwork, and knowledge that had been involved to create it. 

 

“Hermione, I know you want to analyse the thing down to the last molecule, but it was you who told us that there wouldn’t be too much time after the duplication - maybe twenty minutes,” Draco reminded her gently.   
  
“Forget it. She had Ron and me waiting for hours in one of the cases we worked together when I was still active in the field. Outside. Knees deep in snow. In a no-magic area.” Harry’s words had Draco smiling, and Hermione felt the urge to justify herself, but the blond had already deduced correctly, “Let me guess: they were thinking too loud?”

 

Yup. Draco Malfoy was a gem. And emerald, not a ruby. But a gem, nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

  
Soon, they found themselves in Hermione’s grandparent’s neighbourhood. They had decided to travel back as close to the house as possible, concealed by muggle repelling charms and temporary desillusion, because all charms had to be lowered as not to potentially interfere with the time turner or the duplication spell. Technically, it didn’t matter where they travelled, but, considering all variables, it was simply the safest to land where they started. All these considerations led to Harry, Hermione, and Draco standing squished together on the doorstep of the witch’s future house.

 

“I wish I could see my grandparents again. Just for a moment. I miss them so much.” Hermione regarded the door with melancholy. For whatever reason, Draco then did something uncharacteristically reckless; with a smile and a flourish of his hawthorn wand, he vanished the protective charms around them.

 

And knocked at the door.

 

“Draco, you can’t-” she gasped, but was interrupted by a middle-aged woman opening the door. “Yes?” she asked, her friendly smile exactly as Hermione remembered it. She had to force down the tears welling up in her eyes at the sudden confrontation with her dear granny. 

 

“Excuse our untimely appearance, Ma’am. But my girlfriend, our friend, and I are looking for a huge, ginger cat. The little rascal has a mind of his own and somehow escaped us. Are we allowed to see if he has hidden in your beautiful garden?” Gods, Draco could really charm every woman with an interest in males, couldn’t he? His polite, aristocratic drawl and his well-chosen compliment made Hermione’s grandmother blush like a young girl. Hermione’s heart lurched, creating the impulse to throw herself into the woman’s arms.

 

“Of course.The garden door should be open. Tell me if you found the kitten.” 

 

“Naturally. Thank you so much, Madam. Have a nice evening.” He bowed his head at the last words, and the last she could see of her grandmother were her sparkling brown eyes.

 

As soon as the door closed, Hermione turned away, deciding to cover her emotionality upon the short encounter with determination. Now wasn’t the time for spilling tears. The wizards behind her followed her quietly into the first part of the garden. There, hiding in the shadows of the house, and even more concealed because there was no window at the side, she breathed deeply, pulling herself together. “Thank you, Draco.” A hand on her shoulder, the blond man nodded in understanding.

 

Harry cleared his throat, apparently hesitant in disrupting a private moment. “Do one of you know at what time we disappeared from our time? I mean, I’m not eager to encounter myself and create a universe-destroying paradox or something.”

 

“Harry, you’ve watched too much science fiction.There’s no chance you encounter past Harry. There aren’t two of you just because we travelled back; instead, you kind of replace yourself. And we’re jumping into a new, hopefully just slightly altered, time line. One minute more or less won’t change anything.”

 

Draco drily remarked, “Salazar, imagine there would exist two of your kind. There’s already enough Potters in this world, don’t you think?”  

 

“Be careful that I don’t ruin  _ your  _ chances of procreation, Malfoy!” the Head Auror quipped back, pointing his wand between the other man’s legs.

 

“That won’t work with a simple _ Expelliarmus _ , you know? Even if it could certainly qualify as a weapon.”

 

This bantering was close to tearing Hermione’s patience. “Boys, really now. Are you quite done? Because I’d like to go home.”

 

“Sorry, love.”

 

“Sorry, Hermione.”

 

The mumbled apologies accepted, she extended the long chain around them. With Harry’s calming presence left to her and Draco’s exhilarating one to her right, Hermione focused on the task at hand. In precise movements, she adjusted the circles: years, minutes, days, all suddenly only numbers on a scale, as if one decade give or take was meaningless in the universal clockwork that was time and existence. 

 

Then, when she was finished, she held her breath and looked at first Harry, and then Draco. Holding the latter’s gaze, she spun the turner into action, just as she had done with the one in third year so long ago. She knew the time solution swirled and sparkled, enveloping them in a powerful maelstrom diving into the deepest layers of physics. But she kept concentrating on those grey irises that were unfocused now, or maybe it was her own vision that blurred? However, they experienced the uncomfortable sensations of being flung through time again, twisting and turning, pushing and pulling, like being falsely portkeyed through the eye of a needle. 

When their surroundings finally stopped spinning, she stumbled, but two strong arms caught her. Unlike the last time, they were very welcome. But before thanking Draco, she analysed her environment. To her disappointment, she couldn’t decipher if it had worked, because it was the same as before: the house, the darkness, the garden door.

 

“Harry? Draco? You all okay?” she asked, despite the urge to run to the front door and blasting it open.

 

“Yeah, we are. Now go, but be careful,” Harry interjected, fully aware she couldn’t be stopped from doing exactly that. Falling into a run, the brunnette dashed around the house, both wizards closely behind her. Of course, she could have observed the cars parking on the street to know the decade. She could have checked the name on the door, which didn’t read her mother’s maiden name, but instead, she pushed it open impatiently with the help of her wand, not caring if anyone could see her in this moment. The door gave way and revealed - 

 

“ _ Meow _ !”

 

“Crooks!” Hermione scooped the animal up in her arms and entered the house,  _ her _ house, pressing her face into his thick, reddish fur. “Merlin, I’m so glad to have you back!” Then, she remembered how the pawed devil had been responsible for their untimely absence, and she held him in front of her, arms stretched out, and admonished him, “Bad kitty! I told you a thousand times not to jump on the table!” 

 

“ _ Mrrrh _ ?” the pet in question voiced innocently.

 

“Oh, don’t play dumb! You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Over Draco’s amused chuckling, Harry walked passed them and checked the day on the calendar in her kitchen to prove what they already knew: they were home again. 

 

“The date’s correct!” her raven-haired friend rejoiced and stormed back into the living room. “We made it! You saved my arse once again, and I’m eternally thankful to have you as my friend, but-”

 

“You’re going back to your family now, I understand,” Hermione laughed. After a kiss on her cheek and with a boyish grin, Harry practically jumped into the fireplace, activating the floo in the same second.

 

“Harry, wait!” But the Chosen One was already decidedly gone. “He still had his seventies clothes on…” she mumbled.

 

“I doubt, after being apart from his wife for so long, he remains long in them anyway,” Draco commented drily. “Maybe, we should also-” he started, but stopped when he saw Hermione yawn widely.  Closing her mouth, the witch saw that Draco had suddenly turned reluctant, almost shy. “Okay, I understand. I should head back home then, too.”

 

Carefully, Hermione sat Crookshanks back on the floor and quietly addressed the man. “Stay.” Brown eyes met grey. “I have kind of gotten used to you in my bed, even if I can’t imagine doing anything else but sleep tonight.”

 

“Of course. I can manage that.” Draco’s confidence returned with full force, and he smirked. Bending down, he scratched Crookshank’s head, who emitted a delightful purr. Traitor.

 

Nevertheless, she extended her hand to the blond and they interlaced their fingers. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it, Draco.”

 

He squeezed her hand and let her guide him upstairs towards her bedroom. “I’d be a liar if I did.”

 

When Hermione fell asleep some time later, in her own bed, in her own house, and, most importantly, in her own time, she did so with a smile on her lips, and snuggled into the warm comfort that Draco Malfoy now was to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, leave a review? Thx!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter of this little story. I know there are tons of time travelling stories out there, so thank you to all of those who read mine anyway. It means so very much to me, especially since my work load and update schedule wasn't exactly reader friendly these past weeks. 
> 
> I have the greatest luck to call my beta my friend, and she's been with me through all the madness that comes with writing a story. In fact, I couldn't even have done this without her help, so give a huge shout-out to MrBenzedrine89! THANK YOU so much, A.!

 

Hermione woke up in the position she had gone to sleep in: her head resting on Draco’s arm, legs intertwined, her bum resting comfortably against his crotch. In the hazy moments between almost being awake and still half asleep, she traced the faint reminders of the Dark Mark on his forearm. It was ugly, yes, but they all had their scars from the War. The skull and the snake were Draco’s most obvious, and he had worked so hard to smash the memories of the skull and kill the snake within him.

 

The arm under her fingers twitched. “It’s still there,” came a sleepy murmur from behind her.

 

“Yes, it is,” Hermione confirmed, and both of them knew this meant more than the plain fact.

 

“Am I a bad person for secretly wishing that somehow, through our presence, we changed certain things? For example, the moment when it must have gone downhill with my father and his sick beliefs?” Draco spoke quietly, and she hadn’t seen him so somber before. All his walls were lowered in her presence, and she was aware of what a precious gift that was.

 

She turned in his embrace, looking him square in the eyes. ”No, you only show how much you’ve matured. Instead of acting on your wishes when we were in the past, you debated what was the reasonable way to go.” 

 

He hesitated. “About that…” 

 

Her curls flew when she shook her head decisively. “I don’t want to know. I see it in your eyes, Draco. Something horrible has happened that you haven’t told me yet. And you kept it to yourself not because you mistrust me, but because you want to protect me. Tell me when you think we’re both ready for it. I trust you.” 

 

“You’re really smart.” Smiling gratefully, he kissed her nose. 

 

“I know.” 

 

She rested her head against his naked chest because they had simply shrugged their clothes off the previous evening, not really bothering to change into sleepwear. That had left Draco in his boxers and herself in her knickers and white undershirt. For some moments, she simply listened to his heartbeat, the silence between them comfortable and perfect. 

 

“What will the others say? About us, I mean?” she asked.

 

His chest rumbled, chuckling. “I think Theo might cash in some money from Blaise. The git always suspected there was more behind our fighting than two great minds crashing into each other.” 

 

Hermione giggled, having suspected nothing less from his best friends. In turn, she thought of her not-time-travelling other best friend. “Ron might need some preparation, though.” 

 

“What?” There was an unmistaken edge in the blond’s tone, and his heartbeat sped up slightly.”Does he still harbour feeling for you?” 

 

“No, not in the romantic sense.” The heart rate went down again. “But when it comes to me and men…he’s like Harry with an even worse temper.”

 

“It’s not the weasel I want to impress. It’s you.” Before she could come up with a witty response, Draco began to press soft kisses along her jawline. By the time he had reached the juncture of her neck, she had lost track of the conversation. “I think I might pay the Research Department visits in pursuing my goal, then.” Straightening again, he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, pleading for entrance to her mouth. She granted him his wishes.

 

“Oh, you want to risk getting attacked again by some device I’m working on?” Hermione teased, increasingly breathless between kisses. She felt him smirking against her lips.

 

“No. This time, I’m going to attack you with  _ my device _ .” With a small movement, he bumped his rapidly growing erection against her hip. Something in the witch shifted, and she went from experiencing the pleasant warmth of a morning snog into the irrational heat of sexual foreplay. She lifted her leg and swung it over Draco’s in order to pull him closer to her, much closer, in fact.

 

He, in turn, let one hand wander over her back and under her shirt. With the other, he cupped her breast, kneading and flicking the thumb over the sensitive peak. Hermione didn’t even try to contain her moan, and the involuntary roll of her hips against his hardness caused him to hiss. Draco bent his neck, and, through the thin white fabric of her top, sucked at her nipples. She felt the dampness in her knickers spread, and her arousal reached an even higher level when he blew his hot breath over the wet spot.

 

Suddenly impatient, she hooked her fingers through the waistband of his underwear, fully intending to pull it down, when they were interrupted by the sound of the floo swishing downstairs. They hadn’t bothered to lock it down the evening before, she remembered.

 

Draco, immediately snapping out of his lust filled daze, jumped out of the bed. “Who might that be? Do you have any appointments scheduled at work so they’re coming for you?” he asked, tense. She shook her head. That was one of the perks of being the top researcher at the Ministry: she could practically come and go as she liked if she desired so.

 

“Me neither,” the blond whispered, wand already in hand and clearly in Auror mode. Hermione didn’t mention that someone looking for _Draco_ clearly wouldn’t come to _her_ house. She wove her hand in his direction.“Put that away. If someone has access to my Floo, I trust them.” Throwing on a bathrobe, she padded down the stairs, even though she pocketed her own wand as precaution.

 

\- And then she was greeted by the impeccably dressed Narcissa Malfoy, magically brushing off the soot from her forest green robes in the middle of her living room. Hermione was torn between pointing her wand at the intruder or laugh at the irony the situation presented. She decided for something in between: politeness.

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy. What can I do for you?” 

 

Narcissa’s face turned towards her as if indeed expecting Hermione to saunter down the stairs freshly out of bed.

 

“So formal, dear? Or are you in a funny mood?” Playfully, the older witch gave a little cough. “I’m here to abduct you for our scheduled breakfast,  _ Miss Granger _ .” The smile that followed was genuine and reminded her of that on the younger Narcissa’s face before she assessed Hermione’s dishevelled appearance and then tilted her head upstairs. As if caught doing something naughty (which was, technically, the truth), the brunette pulled her bathrobe closer around her body.

 

Narcissa raised her voice and spoke to the ceiling, “Draco, darling, you can come out now. I know you’ve spent the night here!” Some seconds later, Draco’s head peeked around the corner.

 

“Good morning, Mother. How did you know I was here?” The blond was as flabbergasted as the woman he had spent the night with.

 

Narcissa smirked, clearly showing her Slytherin side. “Well, for once, who  _ else _ would be responsible for Hermione’s flushed and pleasantly unhinged sight but you? And, secondly, why should the previous night diverge from many in the past...what was it, three years?” 

 

Draco and Hermione gulped, but Narcissa, oblivious of their reaction, turned to the brunette witch. “Really, I hope you two are planning on making this a proper legal arrangement within the next year! All this back and forth between Draco’s cottage and here. Grandmother Winifred’s ring has waited for you since ages, Hermione!”

 

While Draco’s mother gracefully glided over to the kitchen and flicked her wand at the tea kettle as if she owned the place, Hermione and Draco looked at the living room in broad daylight for the first time.

 

It was the same as when she left it. 

 

_ Mostly. _

 

There was a picture of her grandparents, holding hands in front of a Christmas tree, as usual. There was a also a photo of the Golden Trio upon graduation, arms around each other, for once free from the pressures of the War. There was a throw pillow with the Gryffindor crest on the sofa, a present from Molly. So far, so good.

 

Then, Hermione’s eyes spotted a picture of her and Draco, also holding hands in front of a Christmas tree. There was also one with Blaise, Theo, and Draco, the latter with a wildly smiling Albus Potter in a Slytherin onesie on his lap. And, over the back of the armchair in the corner, someone had thrown an Auror robe.

 

_ Uh-oh _ .

 

Draco and Hermione looked at each other, brown eyes staring into grey, one pair as disbelieving as the other. Things had changed. Apparently, their lives had changed with them, whenever,  _ however _ . Not for the worse so far in their opinion, for sure, though unexpectedly.

 

And there was just one phrase rushing through Hermione’s head this very moment, adequately describing their situation, and she spilled it out loudly now:  

 

“Great Scott!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you throw hexes at me, I'm aware that this ending is quite open, buuut...Back to the Future story, right?


End file.
